


dragonstone

by daestruct



Category: Mamamoo, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Corruption, Dark Magic, Dragons, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Magic, Male Slash, Minor Character Death, Poison, Supernatural Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daestruct/pseuds/daestruct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like all good stories, Jimin's begins with a single decision that spirals into a grand adventure. Unlike most stories, Jimin's features a man who fears heights and yet knows more about them than any human ought to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the stone in the woods

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [projectcyphr](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/projectcyphr) collection. 



> **Prompt:Jimin/J-Hope**
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> While this fic was originally posted as an open-ended, three-chapter story for the Cypher Project, I have finally returned to post it in it's completed entirety over the next few months.
> 
> Thank you to Bianca and Lonio for your hands-on work on this, and to everyone who encouraged and continues to encourage me, I offer my sincere gratitude.
> 
> General apologies to high fantasy fans, but I hope this little ditty can be enjoyed despite its shortcomings. 
> 
> Now, once upon a time, in a land far, far away...

“Mama! Mama!” Jimin trips a bit, stumbling over a tree root starting to grow out of the ground as he hurdles towards his mother. His mother looks up from her herb garden with a smile, her eyes sparkling.

“Jimin!” she calls back, waving to him. Jimin grins around his panting, keeping his treasure close to his chest. “My beautiful boy,” his mother says, crouching down with her arms open. Jimin barrels into her, nearly knocking them both flat to the ground. “What’re you all excited for?”

“Look, Mama. Look!” he chants, holding out the pretty stone he’d found in the forest earlier. It’s shaped like the eggs he helps his mother gather from the chickens in the mornings, the surface bright and patterned in a pale green. “Look what I find!” 

His mother’s eyes go wide, and her face pales. It’s the same face she made when Jimin’s father last told her something very secret. They were having adult talk, and Jimin hadn’t been allowed to listen. He’d caught the word ‘king’ before his mother saw him trying to listen in. His mother had shooed him away then, chasing him into bed to tell him a story, but the pinched expression had never left her face. She looks just like that now, and Jimin curls his fingers tight around the stone, pulling it back close to him.

“This mine,” he says before his mother can tell him he’s in trouble. “I find it.”

“I know, sweetheart,” his mother says, sitting down in the grass. She pulls Jimin to sit with her, settling him on her lap, and Jimin grabs at her thick skirts with one hand. “And you’re so clever to find it.”

“Don’t be mad, mama!” Jimin tries, tugging at his mother’s skirts. She pats his back gently and curls the fingers of her other hand around his where they clutch onto the stone. 

“I’m not mad, baby, I promise,” his mother tells him, kissing his head. “You’ve found something no one else has, but you cannot keep it.”

Jimin’s bottom lip wobbles. “Why not?” he demands. “I find it!”

“You did,” his mother says. “But just because you find something doesn’t mean it’s yours. If one of the boys in town found Gem when she wanders off, would you let them have her?” Jimin scowls at the idea of one of the other boys taking his birthday present from his father away from him. 

“No!” he declares decisively. “Gem is my puppy! If Gem got lost, then she has to come back home with me. This is my house. Gem’s house too.” He crosses the arm not clutching the pretty rock over his chest.

“And what if that stone belongs to someone?” his mother asks. “Can you just keep it?”

“But-!” Jimin’s mother narrows her eyes in warning. Jimin bites his bottom lip. “No, mama.”

“No, that’s right, Jimin,” his mother states, maneuvering Jimin on her lap so that she can pull a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket. “So you have to take it back.” She holds out her hand with the handkerchief spread over her palm. Jimin looks at the rock again and sighs, giving in. He sets it in his mother’s waiting hand.

His mother smiles and ruffles his hair. “Good boy,” she praises. Carefully, she wraps the handkerchief around the rock. “Now, tell mama where you found this?”

Jimin frowns, watching his mother hide his little treasure away. “Me an’ Papa checked the traps today,” he whispers. “I found it out there.”

“You went out quite far today then, didn’t you?” His mother pokes his nose. “What a handsome boy you are, going all the way out there and back with your Papa.” She pokes his tummy next, and Jimin squeals, throwing his arms around his mother’s neck and clinging to her.

“I’m going to be a good hunter like Papa!” he announces, and his mother laughs.

“Yes, you will be,” she coos. 

“He will be,” Jimin’s father’s voice joins the conversation. “He’s got the natural senses of a tracker. He’ll be better than me in a few years.”

“He’s barely just turned five, Ferris,” Jimin’s mother scoffs, setting Jimin on his feet. “He’s got a while.”

“Can’t a man be proud of his son, Sunah?” Jimin’s father argues. He holds out a hand to help Jimin’s mother to her feet, and the handkerchief wrapped around the little rock slips open. Jimin’s father stills like he does when he sees a deer grazing within an arrow’s reach. He glances down at the stone in Jimin’s mother’s hands and back at his wife’s face. “Where did you get that?”

“Your son brought it home to me,” Jimin’s mother says. “It seems he’s also a sneaky little thing. Did he get that from you or me, I wonder?” Jimin’s father purses his lips before he crouches down in front of Jimin. 

“You did a good job today, boy,” he says. “Why don’t you go get washed up for supper and feed Gem? Can you do that for me and your mother?”

“Yessir!” Jimin cheers. He totters off then, shoving the door open. “Gem!” he hollers. “Gemmie, come here!” He glances back at his parents, sees his mother press the handkerchief-wrapped stone into his father’s hands and sees his father’s nod. His mother whispers something that Jimin can’t hear, and then he’s tackled by an overzealous puppy and all thoughts of the pretty green stone are replaced with thoughts of training his puppy to be a good hunting dog like the ones his father has.

“Want supper, Gem?” Jimin asks. The puppy yips, and Jimin laughs, leading her inside.

**+=+**

Jimin keeps his steps light over the mud and dead leaves on the forest floor, ducking so that the bow strapped to his back doesn't catch in the tree branches hanging down around him. Off to the side, a large brown hound sniffs around the undergrowth, distracted by all the smells the forest has to offer.

"Gem," Jimin orders in a quiet whisper. "Heel." The dog looks up and slinks to his side immediately, walking with him deeper into the trees and brush. Jimin doesn't need the dog with him to check traps. His father never took the dogs with him for the simple errand, but Jimin had never gone out to check the traps without his father. After his death at the mercy of a violent illness a few winters ago, Jimin has never learned to go out hunting alone.

The trees clear suddenly into a clearing of long grass riddled with burrows. Jimin has sprained his ankles more than once here, and he's not particularly keen on doing it again. Luckily for him, he's got an agile companion who can check the traps for him. He crouches down and scratches the fur of Gem's ears. "Alright, Gem. Go check," he tells her, and the dog crouches down, crawling forward on her belly into the grass. Jimin sighs, pulling the bow and quiver from his back and dropping down to lean against a tree. He fingers the fletching on his arrows carefully, waiting for Gem to whine to tell him one of the traps has caught something.

He's dozing off when he's suddenly woken up by Gem licking up the side of his face.

"Gem!" Jimin protests, shoving his bow and arrows out of the way before Gem can crush them in her quest to settle herself on his lap. "You're too big for this." Gem just licks Jimin again, settling down with her head on his shins. Jimin rolls his eyes. "Get up, dog," he tells her. "We have to get back." Gem just whines, settling down a little firmer on Jimin's legs. He sighs, resigning himself to a couple minutes of the quiet of the forest.

It's not safe out here. The forest is never safe, its dark and twisted paths especially deadly with winter right around the corner, but Jimin knows these woods better than he knows the village he and his mother call home. He'd rather be out here trapping and hunting than in the village trading his catches for coins or produce.

Gem leaps up, barking loudly. Jimin's barely taken another breath before he's on his feet, an arrow knocked and drawstring pulled taut.

"Gem," his whispers, and the dog barks again, her nose pointed towards the opposite end of the clearing. Jimin knows for a fact he hasn't set any traps over there, and he doesn't see anything. There's no animal sprinting away from his dog's warning bark, and there's no bear peering through the trees at them. There is, however, something sparkling in the grass, and Jimin lowers his bow slowly.

Gem growls again, and Jimin shushes her gently. He understands her unease, feels the same flight-driven adrenaline raising the hairs on his arms and neck. Jimin and Gem have been caught in a forest fire before, but that had come with a crack and roar just before heat and orange light threatened to consume them. To this day, Jimin still doesn’t know how he managed to escape without any burns despite the fire catching on his hunting jacket and burning right through the leather.

The clouds drift, and the sun filters back through the trees, making the thing in the grass shine brighter. Curiosity sinks its claws into Jimin’s mind.

"It's okay, girl," he murmurs, stepping back. Gem quiets from a growl to a whine, but she keeps her teeth bared. Jimin slings his bow and quicker back over his shoulders and turns to walk around the clearing carefully, watching his steps to avoid falling into a rabbit hole. Gem follows him, whining lowly, nudging his calf with her nose. Jimin stops, staring down at the strange sparkling thing that had caught Gem's attention.

Suddenly he's five years old again, waiting for his father to finish resetting all the traps and overjoyed to find something so pretty in the grass. In front of him now is the same stone he'd found then, or it looks a lot like it. Where then he'd been able to hold the stone in two hands easily, this one is about as long as his forearm. It can't be the same stone, he tells himself, but the pattern and the jade coloring is _exactly_ like the one from over ten years ago.

Gem whines again, skittering back a few paces.

"I know, girl, I know," Jimin murmurs to comfort her, but he can't resist leaning down and picking the stone up anyway. It's warm where it should be freezing in this weather. Jimin swallows hard. 

His mother hadn't wanted him to have something like this around, but despite his clear memory of the day he’d originally found a jade stone like this, he can’t place a real reason why his mother was so adamant that they be rid of a rock. Jimin bites his bottom lip, turning the stone over in his hands. It looks so pretty, so much like jade, that despite his mother’s disapproval, it _has_ to be worth something.

And if there’s one thing Jimin and his mother struggle with above all else, it’s money.

He doesn’t have to tell his mother he found the stone, Jimin reckons, and with that, he ignores Gem's growl and shoves the stone into his hunting bag along with the rest of today's catch.

"Let's go home," he says, trudging back across the clearing, watching his step. Gem pants beside him, walking at a further distance from him than she normally does, and Jimin whistles softly, an old tune his father used to whistle. 

He misses the man he’d called father greatly even if Ferris hadn't been Jimin's real father. The light hair and eyes and the _height_ had been hint enough once Jimin was old enough to understand that while he doesn't look any particular amount like his mother, he looks absolutely nothing like his father. Still, Ferris had been the one to raise Jimin, had been the one to teach him how to hunt and track and trap. In Jimin's opinion, that's makes Ferris his father far more than the man who had laid with his mother nearly seventeen years ago.

"You're going to walk right past the house," his mother's voice cuts through Jimin's thoughts, and he jolts, blinking up at the front of the house he’s lived in for as long as he can remember. His mother raises an eyebrow, and Jimin shrugs, sheepish. 

"Uh," he says. "Hi, Mama."

"Hello, beautiful boy," his mother greets him. "You been thinking hard about something?"

"About Papa, yeah," Jimin admits. It’s only half the truth. He pushes his bag behind him, hoping his mother won’t notice the perfectly round shape it has. "Hunting always makes me a bit nostalgic."

"It's only been two years since then," his mother says carefully, eyeing him. "We can't expect to heal so suddenly."

"No," Jimin agrees. "I'll never forget him." His mother smiles sadly, reaching out to pull Jimin into a hug that Jimin dodges to drop his hunting bag on the ground. His mother waits, and Jimin turns to accept her hug, folding his arms around her shoulders.

"A good son, you are," she tells him, patting his back. "And that's enough talk of that. How were the traps?"

"Successful," Jimin answers, extracting himself from his mother's embrace, grabbing his bag, and moving towards the house. He hangs his bow and quiver from the nails in the wooden walls and pulls his heavy boots from his feet. The inside of the house is warm, a fire crackling away merrily in the open clay pit. He works on getting his coat off, talking aimlessly to his mother about his day while he messes with the fastenders.

"Gem tried to take a nap on me out at that clearing. You know the one. With all the rabbit holes? I guess she thinks I make her work too-"

"Jimin, darling," his mother cuts in. Her voice shakes, and Jimin glances up from hanging his jacket immediately to look at her. "What is this?"

On the kitchen table mere inches from his mother's trembling hands, the large jade stone sits, and Jimin's stomach turns. He'd completely missed his mother picking up his bag while he worked on his boots and coat.

_Idiot._

"Oh, I, uh, found that today," he says, trying to force some laughter out of his lungs. "Kind of funny right? It looks so much like that one I found when I was a kid. This one's much larger though." Jimin reaches out to take the stone from the table, but his mother wraps it in her apron and draws back, keeping it out of Jimin's reach. Her mouth is drawn down in a frown, and the bright color of the stone seeps through her white apron and contrasts with her pale hands.

The image of her apparent terror, colored the same green as the stone, imprints itself on the back of Jimin’s eyelids, and he shifts uncomfortably where he stands.

If the color and texture of this stone had seemed like an exact replica of the first one Jimin found when he was younger, then his mother's reaction to seeing it confirms his suspicion that this particular shade of curious green is not something that he should be finding in the forest.

"Mama?" He walks towards her again, very carefully taking the stone from the folds of her apron and cradling it carefully in his arms. "What's wrong?" His mother shakes her head once and fixes her gaze on him.

"Don't show that to anyone," she orders. "Take it back to wherever you found it this time and never _find_ it again."

Something awful curls in Jimin's stomach at the thought of simply abandoning something so obviously important.

"Mama," he begins, intending to soothe her.

"Furthermore," his mother continues, "never go back to where you found it. Forget you've ever seen this. Do you understand?"

Jimin sighs. "Mama, it's-"

"This is not up for discussion, Jimin," his mother snaps. "Do you understand, or don't you?"

Jimin swallows. He understands what his mother is saying, but he doesn't understand _why_ she's saying it. "But what if it's worth something?" he presses. It's not that they need money; the two of them plus Gem get along just fine. But riches are a concept as foreign to them as the language of the royal courts, and Jimin is not the best as resisting temptation or ignoring his impulses. "We can sell it. Have an easy winter for once with whatever we make from it."

His mother scoffs. "It is worth a lot," she says. "But what that thing is worth does not equal your life. Not to me." She reaches into the satchel, pulling out the few squirrels and rabbits that Jimin had caught and shoves the empty bag at Jimin. She nods her head at it in a clear direction for Jimin to put the stone back in the bag. He sighs, gently easing the stone into the bag.

"Now,” his mother orders, “take it back to where you found it. And leave it there."

Jimin takes the bag from her, but he doesn't sling the strap back over his shoulders. He's too curious; he's never seen his mother in such a state of near panic before. "What is it?" he asks.

"Jimin!” his mother snaps. “It doesn't matter what it is or why I’ve said any of this. I am your mother, and I have asked you to do something. Now, will you obey me or not?" Jimin wheels back, clutching the bag. His mother usually makes a point not to yell at him like the other village boys’ mothers, and he can count on one hand the number of times she’s truly raised her voice at him in his sixteen years.

Jimin frowns fidgeting. "It's late," he says, pointing outside. "It's going to be pitch black by the time I get back out to the clearing." There are certain rules his father always taught him about the woods, about hunting. Never go out at night, his father had always warned him. That's the best way to get killed. Jimin isn't keen on making a suitor out of death.

His mother's frown deepens, and she looks from Jimin to Gem to the satchel. "Take Gem with you."

"I'm not going out again right now," Jimin protests. "It's getting late. I'm hungry. It's a _rock._ It can wait until tomorrow."

His mother sighs, her shoulders sagging under her shawl. "Fine," she says. "Tomorrow. First thing."

"Yes, ma'am," Jimin agrees, and he does not bring up the stone again all through dinner. The tension from his mother never eases, her eyes continually flicking towards the door and then the bright green peeking out from the top of the hunting bag. Jimin takes the bag with him when he goes to bed that night, setting it on the pile of shirts he has yet to sort through. Carefully, he eases the lip of the satchel open so he can see the stone as much as possible. The moonlight streams in through the window, illuminating the brilliant color of the stone.

It's beautiful, truly. And if it's worth as much as his mother says it is, then Jimin would be a fool to take it back to where he found it and forget about it. He pulls on his nightshirt and slips under his blankets. Gem whines from the floor, and Jimin pats the space next to him. The dog jumps up beside him and settles down against the curve of Jimin's body, resting her head on his hip and exhaling loudly.

"That doesn't look comfortable, Gemmie," Jimin murmurs. He yawns, threading his fingers through his dog's fur. "You'll come with me to the market tomorrow, yeah, girl? Do some trading. Maybe get you a new collar if all goes well." He fingers the frayed braiding looped around his dog’s neck, and Gem licks his hand and lets out a groan, her eyes falling shut. Jimin pats her head. The last thing he sees before his falls into sleep is the bright silver glow of the moon glancing off of the jade of the oval stone.

**+=+**

The market is busy with people setting up shop, various vendors pulling out their best wares and dressing their best to incur more business. The caravan is arriving today; traders and merchants from the King's City will be here, and that means more money for Jimin's village. Jimin walks quickly through the crowd with his bag of furs and embroidery done by his mother slung over his shoulder. The market is exciting, but Jimin prefers to finish his business here before it gets too busy.

"Heel, Gem," he orders when he sees his dog glancing over at one of the meat vendors. "I'll get you something later, yeah?" Gem lets out an excited bark, nuzzling her nose against Jimin's hand. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Jimin leads Gem through the crowd to his first and most important stop.

"Hello?" he calls out, stepping into the town blacksmith's shop. "Mr. Kim?"

"Hey, Jimin," is called back to him, and Namjoon steps out of the shadows of the shop, soot smeared across his cheek. "Pa's out now, but I'm here?"

"You'll do then," Jimin teases, reaching out to clasp his friend's hand. Namjoon's grip is rough, hands scarred from working with metal and flames. Gem barks at him, and Namjoon crouches down immediately to scratch Jimin's dog's ears.

"Hello, Gem," Namjoon says. "Have you been good?" Gem licks Namjoon's face in response, and Namjoon scrunches up his nose.

"That's a 'yes,'" Jimin informs his friend. "If you didn't know."

"I guessed," Namjoon says, straightening up and trying to wipe the saliva from his face. "You here to trade?" Jimin nods, patting the bag slung over his back. "I figured as much," Namjoon tells him, dropping his gloves on his workbench and walking over to the counter. "With the new baby on the way, Pa wants to get as many furs as possible, so you're in luck."

"How's your mother doing?" Jimin asks, tugging the pack over his head and setting it gently on the counter. There's a slight thunk from the stone, and Jimin waves away Namjoon's curious glance by pulling out an assortment of cured furs.

"She's well," Namjoon answers, helping Jimin lay out all the pieces he'd brought. "Stays in bed mostly, but there really haven't been any problems."

"That's good," Jimin tells him, watching Namjoon sorts through the furs he wants. "I need rope and nails. Mostly rope. Traps, you know."

"Sure," Namjoon says. "We really only keep rope around for you, anyway. So..." He stacks up four of the furs. "Let me find you enough stuff to make up for these." Jimin grins.

"I'll wait here."

He digs a bit of jerky from his pocket, tearing off a chunk of it and holding it out for Gem. The dog takes it happily, tail wagging as she chews through it. It takes a few minutes for Namjoon to come back, but when he does, it's with his father in tow.

"Mr. Kim," Jimin greets immediately, and the man claps a thin hand on Jimin's shoulder.

"Good morning, boy," he say. "Namjoon showed me the furs you brought. You really are a good hunter. You and that dog of yours." Gem's tail wags, and she barks.

"My father taught me well," Jimin replies. He ignores Namjoon's father's snort and shake of his head accompanied by a disbelieving murmurs of 'right, your _father._ ' Namjoon throws Jimin an apologetic glance, dropping a coil of rope and a box of odds and ends on the counter. It’s not like Jimin is unaware, but it’s also not like his mother hasn’t gained something of an unsavory reputation for who raised Jimin.

"Here's what I scrounged up for you," Namjoon says, drawing his father's attention away from Jimin. Jimin leans over the counter, checking out the various nails and bolts of wrought iron Namjoon has laid out for him. "I have a new trap too," Namjoon adds, walking over to one of the shelves at the other end of the shop. "I don't know if it'll work, but you could test it out for me?"

Namjoon's father sighs, and Jimin holds out his hand immediately. "I'll try it out."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," Jimin says, and Namjoon’s grin threatens to split his whole face in half. Jimin smiles back at him before he pulls his mother's embroidery and the cloth-wrapped stone from his pack in order to put in the heavier items first.

"What's that?" Namjoon asks.

Distracted with fitting the traps and his trade gains in his bag, Jimin answers, "Mama's embroidery. You know we always sell it when the caravans come through."

"I didn't mean that," Namjoon says. Jimin looks up, watches with vague discomfort as Namjoon pulls the cloth apart. The bright jade of the stone is horribly out of place in the dark, fire-lit shop room. "I meant thi-"

"Where did you get this, boy?" Namjoon's father demands, snatching his son's hands away before Namjoon can lay a finger on the stone.

"Pa!" Namjoon protests, and then repeats his outburst when his father touches his own finger to the surface of the stone. He draws back immediately, hissing, the pad of his index finger an angry red.

Jimin blinks. The stone is warm, yes, but it has never burned him.

"Where did you get this?" Namjoon's father demands again when Jimin doesn't offer an answer. "Boy!" Jimin's mind is still reeling from the stone _burning_ his friend's father, and Gem growls from where she's standing next to Jimin. "Who knows you have it?"

"It doesn't matter where I found it," Jimin snaps, only just refraining from snarling. "I’m going to sell it and be rid of it." He ignores the sudden nausea that follows his words, pinning the blame on his dislike of Namjoon’s father.

Namjoon frowns, apology written all over his features. Jimin shrugs it off; he's not mad at Namjoon. He's not really even mad at his father. He's just annoyed. No one else should touch the stone except for him. He swallows, reaching out to tie the cloth closed.

"Jimin..." Namjoon murmurs, hands hovering over the counter. "Let me grab some work gloves. Don't touch-" He cuts himself off, watching Jimin's hands settle over the stone. As usual, the surface is smooth and warm. It doesn't burn him. Maybe Namjoon's father just has sensitive hands, Jimin thinks even though that can't possibly be a sensible explanation. Namjoon's father is a blacksmith, hands white with scars and calluses.

"It's fine," Jimin says. "Just warm."

"You don't even know what that is, do you?" Namjoon's father sneers, and Jimin frowns, frustrated.

"My mother won't say anything, and you've only mocked me for not knowing," Jimin snaps. "How am I expected to know?"

"Surely your mother has books on the subject," Mr. Kim says.

"My mother is illiterate," Jimin tells him. "Why would she keep books?"

"Sunah is definitely your father's lover," Mr. Kim murmurs darkly.

"What does that mean?" Jimin demands.

"Pa," Namjoon cuts in. "Mr. McKay is dead, and you know it's bad luck to speak ill of the dead." Namjoon's father grumbles low in his throat but is thankfully quiet. "What's the stone really?" Namjoon asks after a moment.

"Dangerous," Mr. Kim answers carefully.

"I'm told it's worth a lot," Jimin says. "Is it a geode? Or-?"

"Jimin," Namjoon's father says, voice and eyes sharp. He grabs Jimin's shoulder, leaning in close to him. "Do not sell that. Do not even let anyone know you have it. Especially people with money. Anyone from the King's city. Get rid of it immediately."

"I can't," Jimin argues. "We could use the money, and-"

"Listen to me, boy," Mr. Kim cuts in. "You're endangering not only yourself but your mother if anyone sees you with that." Panic coils in Jimin's stomach at the thought of putting his mother in harm's way. She's been through enough with the loss of his father; he doesn't need to cause her anymore pain.

"I'm trying to make her life more comfortable," Jimin tries.

"All the money in the land won't make your mother comfortable if you're dead, boy" Namjoon's father says. He pushes Jimin to tuck all of his belongings back inside his pack. "Go home right away. Before the caravan gets here."

"But I have to make trades," Jimin says.

"If anyone finds out you have that _stone,_ " Mr. Kim warns, "you will be killed. Think about that before you go running around the caravan merchants." Jimin swallows hard. He's known Namjoon's father for years now. The man has a penchant for being more intense than the situation really demands.

"Thank you for the trade, Namjoon," Jimin says, blatantly ignoring his friend's father. "I'll see you around. Good luck with your mother and the baby when it comes."

"Thanks," Namjoon answers, watching his father's clenched fists. "Be safe."

"Yeah," Jimin promises. He slings his bag back over his shoulder. "Come on, Gem. Let's go." The dog pants, trotting along after Jimin as he walks out of the shop with harsh steps. His hunting boots make the most satisfying thuds against the planks of the floor.

"Danger," he mutters to himself, scoffing. "Geezer won't even tell me what the thing is. How dangerous can it be?" He shoves aside the thought that what he's found is so dangerous that knowing might be worse than maintaining his ignorance. “Maybe if I drop it on his head it’ll be dangerous.” He kicks at the ground.

Gem barks, and Jimin looks up. The caravan is here.

"Alright, girl," Jimin says, ruffling his dog's ears. "Let's go sell some things. Smile pretty." The dog's tongue lolls out of her mouth, and Jimin laughs, patting his thigh to get Gem to stay at his side. They journey together into the forming crowd, and Jimin relaxes into hearing the high tongue of the King's City weaving around the familiar slurred syllables of the common tongue. He jokes with a few sellers, lets a few others pet Gem, and sells as many of his mother's embroidery pieces as he can.

One seller he recognizes, a man and woman with bright colored clothes and just as bright smiles.

"Jimin," they greet in unison when they see him.

"How is your mother?" the wife asks, clasping one of Jimin's hands between both of hers. Her rings are uncomfortable against Jimin's skin, her perfume just a tad too sweet.

"Just as skilled with a needle as always," he answers, pleased when the woman laughs.

"Show us," the husband urges. "Our tailor is always so impressed with what we bring back for him to put on our clothing." Indeed, on the bottom hem of the woman's skirts is a very familiar pattern.

"So you'll be generous with money, right?" Jimin says, only half-joking.

The husband claps once. "Show us what you have, and we'll discuss." Jimin pulls his bag off his shoulder and roots through it for the folded samples of his mother's work that he had set aside specifically for this couple. Jimin's watching their excitement over the detailed work and petting Gem's head absentmindedly when he feels a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

He twists, turning to look at a figure wearing deep green robes. The man continues to stare at him even when Jimin meets his stare. The insignia hanging from around his neck is simple and unmistakable.

A silver circle embellished with gemstones of topaz- the sign of the Circle. Although the capital of the country is still called the King's City, there is no king in power reigning there. Instead, nearly seventeen years ago, a group of magicians calling themselves the Circle took power and banned all magic and figures of authority other than themselves from the kingdom. As far as Jimin knows, it hasn't really affected the country in anyway other than a drop in population as those who practice magic were either killed, fled, or went into hiding.

All men in power are brutal, he thinks. That’s just the way it is.

Jimin bows to the Circle mage in his best replica of the bows he's seen the King's City merchants direct to each other. The mage keeps staring, his eyes dark and focused on the bag hanging from Jimin's shoulder. A terrible fear flashes through Jimin, and he clutches the bag close to himself. The mage's eyes flit to his wrist, and Jimin looks down too. His movement to grab the bag had pushed his coat sleeve back, and the black mark he's had for as long as he can remember is there, stark against his skin. Jimin startles at it; the mark is bigger now, more detailed. He shoves his sleeve down. When he looks back up, the mage is gone, disappeared into the crowd of merchants.

"Jimin, are you alright?" the wife looking at his mother's embroidery asks. Jimin turns back to look at her.

"Uh, yes, ma'am," he manages. "I'm- I thought I saw-" His wrists itches. "It's nothing. Are you going to buy?"

"Definitely," the woman says. "I tell you this every time, but you can only find work like this in the wardrobes of the lost king's comfort women. The replicas are never as good, but your mother really has an exceptional talent."

"I'll tell her," Jimin promises, slightly dazed.

"Good boy," the woman says. "And tell her that she has a very handsome son." Jimin blushes, ducking his face behind the high collar of his coat.

"Thank you," he murmurs. The woman throws a smile towards her husband, and the merchant nods his head, waving at her in a general 'go ahead' gesture.

"I'll buy them all," the wife offers. "Five-hundred silvers for the lot."

Jimin chokes. "Five-hundred?"

"And one-hundred coppers, as usual," the husband promises. "Is that alright with you?" Considering their previous purchase was half that much and most people buy only a small sample for a couple hundred coppers, Jimin would be downright insane to refuse. With money like that, he won’t have to sell the stone. He can just keep is as a pretty souvenir from the forest for himself.

"Yes," he says. "That's- yes." The merchant couple laugh, turning to their stall to pull out leather bags of the appropriate amount. Jimin is still stunned when he says goodbye, the money tucked safely in his bag alongside the jade stone. The conflicting success of the day and the stare of the Circle mage swim through his mind, and Jimin shakes his head to clear it.

"Let's go home, Gemmie," Jimin says, tugging lightly on the dog's ear. Gem speeds ahead of him, and Jimin shoves everything - the Circle mage and the mark on his arm, Mr. Kim and his warnings and comments on books, the merchant's wife's talking about his mother's skill - aside and runs after his dog, heading home.

It's been a weird day, and Jimin is ready for it to be over.

**+=+**

"How was the market?" his mother asks him when he returns home, and Jimin sighs, holding off answering until he's set down his bag carefully so as to not jostle the stone and other equipment still inside and peeled off his coat and stumbled out of his boots. He keeps his arm tucked against his side, pressing the marked underside of his wrist against his stomach so that it can't be seen.

"Successful," Jimin answers vaguely, tapping Gem's shoulder to tell her to go outside. The dog pads away slowly at first and then bolts off out the back door when she sees a squirrel.

"Are you alright?" his mother inquires, looking from his wrist to his face. Jimin nods.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says. He flinches. He doesn’t sound fine at all.

"Jimin," his mother starts.

"Yes, ma'am," he corrects himself, but his mother just sighs at him.

"Is your arm hurt?" his mother demands, reaching out for him. Jimin takes a step back, nearly tripping over his boots.

"I'm fine!" he blurts out. "I'm okay. It's just. That birthmark. Bothering me." His mother doesn't calm, her eyebrows burrowing, but she does back off.

"Alright," she says. "Alright. As long as you're okay."

"I'm fine, Mama," Jimin says, trying his best to sound exasperated and not like he's trying to convince both his mother and himself.

"So, tell me about the market," Jimin's mother requests, turning back to their small kitchen. A small pot of stew is bubbling over the flames, and Jimin's stomach rumbles. It smells like venison; Jimin hopes it's venison.

"That couple I've told you about before?" he starts, moving to take his seat at their small table. It's the perfect size for two people, but without his father, the piece of furniture still feels too large.

"Yes, I remember."

"They bought the lot today," Jimin announces. His mother jerks up with a real, genuine smile spreading across her features.

"Really?" She sounds breathless, hesitant in case Jimin's just joking. But Jimin would never joke about this.

"Five-hundred silvers and a hundred coppers," Jimin confirms.

"Five-hundred?" his mother says, echoing Jimin's disbelief back at the market.

"Yes," he says. "Five-hundred."

"That's wonderful, baby," his mother cheers, leaning down and kissing Jimin's forehead. She sets his serving of soup in front of him and takes her own seat. "I should get out some wine to celebrate." Jimin grins at her. His mother's stash of wine is startlingly delicious, nothing at all like the weak juice that the taverns in town serve. She gets up, smoothing her apron and heading over to the cabinet where she keeps the wine.

A knock sounds on the door.

Jimin's mother freezes, and Jimin too pauses.

"Did you invite someone over?" he asks. His mother looks at him and then directs her gaze towards the bag in his hand.

"Jimin," she whispers, and her voice is cold and terrified. "You didn't get rid of that stone, did you?"

"I did!" Jimin lies. "I-"

"Jimin," his mother interrupts. "Don't lie to me right now. Did you get rid of it?"

Jimin shakes his head slowly, confusion and shame seeping into his pores. "No," he answers, truthful this time. "I couldn't."

His mother's expression hardens, and she changes direction, crossing from the wine cabinet to a knapsack left sitting out on the cooking table. "Listen to me," she orders, and her tone leaves no room for Jimin to argue. "Take this," she says, hefting the knapsack. "And that stone. And run." There's another knock on the door.

"Mama?" Jimin lifts his bowl to his lips. "Are you not going to answer?"

"Not until you're out of here," his mother growls. "Get up." Jimin stumbles out of his chair, rushing to put on his boots and refasten his coat, jamming his hat down on his head and taking the knapsack from his mother.

"What's going on?" he demands. "Mama, you have to tell me _something!_ "

"There's a letter in the bag," his mother says, frantic. "Read it."

"Who wrote it?" Jimin asks.

His mother's eyes are sad, apologetic. "I did," she answers.

Mr. Kim talking about books flashes through Jimin’s mind. "But you can't read?"

"I can," his mother tells him and presses her fingers over his mouth before Jimin can ask another question. "Just read the letter."

"Mama, I-"

A shout from outside sounds, accompanied by another knock. Jimin freezes. He recognizes that language. He doesn't speak it, doesn't understand a word of it, but he knows the accented syllables. He spent all day at the market hearing them.

"King's speech?" he murmurs.

His mother turns toward the door, shouting back in the same foreign language, and Jimin's world tilts on its axis.

"You-?"

"Read the letter, Jimin," his mother orders again. "Take the stone, and run north. Go to the mountains. You'll be safe there. Tell them your name as I’ve written it. Not McKay."

"But my name _is_ McKay," Jimin protests. “I know he wasn’t my real father, but he still- we’re family.”

"No," his mother says. "That is my greatest lie to you."

More shouting in the King's speech resounds through the house, and his mother screams.

"Go, Jimin, now!" Jimin dives to his knees, pulling the stone from within the pack he'd taken with him to the market. His mother shouts outside in the high tongue, and Jimin has so many questions, so many things he needs to know, to understand, but how can he ask when his mother is yelling at him to _run_.

"Gem!" Jimin's mother calls. The dog bursts back inside the house almost immediately, skidding to a halt at Jimin's side. "Run, Jimin. Go to the mountains. Don't stop for anything or anyone."

"But, Mama-" Jimin tries again, but Gem is growling next to him, her teeth bared at the door.

"I'll be alright," his mother promises. "They won't kill me. They know better than that." She kisses his cheek. "I love you, my beautiful boy."

"Ma-?"

"Go!" She shoves him, hard, and Jimin listens, running out the back door with Gem hot on his heels. His heart is racing, and he stops at the threshold, turning back.

"What is this?" he asks, lifting the stone just slightly. Heat, sudden and intense, fills the chill fall air around him, and Jimin sees his mother's lips move in answer, hears her voice. The air shatters, and Jimin is knocked backwards when the door to his home is thrown open with the power of something Jimin has never seen before but can be nothing else.

Magic.

The same mage from earlier, his eyes dark and mouth twisted with hate, lips painted black, the gemstones on his pendant flashing, stands in the doorway. His gaze settles on the carefully wrapped stone in Jimin's hands, and his mother screams at Jimin to run, _now._ Jimin trips and stumbles back, knocking into one of the posts of the chicken coop. A wayward nail scratches deep into the skin of his thigh, and Jimin hisses, hurrying away while checking over his shoulder. The mage makes demands of his mother in the king's speech, and his mother responds in turn, her clothing seeming to float around her with the mage's power in the air.

The malice of it pricks the back of Jimin's neck as he runs, Gem beside him, deep into the forest. He ignores his panic for his mother despite her assurances and clutches tightly onto the stone. He keeps running until his heart feels like it will pound its way out of his chest and his throat is dry from the cold air.

It's not until dusk is turning to night and the ringing in Jimin's ears from the mage's blast has calmed that Jimin is able to register exactly what it is his mother told him he's holding protectively against his chest.

 _"Dragonstone._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! Chapter one! Chapter two will be up sometime next week, but until then, leave me feedback! It is the fuel that carries me through the winter.
> 
> Let's talk pretty boys and magic on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/daestruct), yes? Yes. Finger pistols.


	2. the prey in the hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously, on dragonstone: 
> 
> It's not until dusk is turning to night and the ringing in Jimin's ears from the mage's blast has calmed that Jimin is able to register exactly what it is his mother told him he's holding protectively against his chest.
> 
>  _"Dragonstone._ "

Jimin pants, stumbling more than he runs. The cold air burns in his lungs, his throat raw. Gem whimpers beside him, weaving gracefully through the trees, trying to guide him. Her brown coat blends with the bare trunks, and Jimin blinks.

He misses the upturned tree root in front of him, and his own exhaustion defeats his ability to catch his balance. Jimin crashes into the ground, sliding in the freezing mud. Thorns scratch his cheek; the blood rushing to the wound is the only part of Jimin that feels warm.

“Gem,” he calls weakly. The dog halts, hurrying back to Jimin, nosing at his hairline. She whines, and her cold nose against Jimin’s sweat-damp neck is a far cry from comfortable, but it is comforting. At least he’s not alone out here.

A thrill of fear runs down his spine; if he dies out here, if the circle mage finds him, if something gets both him and Gem, who will tell his mother?

Despite his mother’s assurances that the circle won’t kill her, Jimin had seen the malice on the mage’s face, felt the intensity of his stare and magic. He’s not completely convinced. 

Gem whimpers, and Jimin forces himself up onto his feet, starting forward again with Gem trying to support his legs. She’s tripping him more than she’s helping him, but Jimin is too exhausted to mind.

The trees clear for a fallen trunk, burnt and split from a lightning strike. Despite the cold, the bark is dry, and Jimin needs fire to keep himself alive through the night. He gauges the wind and the shelter offered by the fallen tree. It will have to do. 

Already regretting it, Jimin pulls his fingers from the fur mitts he leaves looped around his hunting jacket. The cold bites at his skin, and the bag his mother had thrust into his hands slips through his shaking fingers and onto the ground. A packet of salted pork rolls out along with an apple and a small, jagged stone. Jimin sighs, dropping to his knees to collect the food before Gem realizes what it is. If there’s a stone, then there’s flint. 

Jimin jams the apple in his mouth and regrets it immediately: it’s frozen. His teeth ache, and he grumbles as many curse words as he knows.

Vaguely, as he searches for the flint in the bag, he wonders how to curse in the King’s speech. 

“Found it,” Jimin hisses, pulling the flint out. He sighs, staring at the twigs and underbrush scattered about before him. They’ll light, but they won’t last long. He looks at the collapsed tree, strips of bark hanging off of it. Enough of them will last long enough for him to catch decent sleep. Jimin pockets the flint and stone, and drags himself back to his feet.

Giving up would be easier, he thinks. Giving up would be almost relieving. But dying in the bitter cold, his heart stuttering to a frozen stop, would be a worse misery than this. The bark splinters and cracks under Jimin’s hands, and Gem manages to startle a giggle out of him when she tries to pick up a branch still attached to the tree. Slowly, but surely, Jimin gathers a pile of tree and brush big enough for a fire.

“Okay,” he whispers to the flint and stone. “Please.”

He strikes once and gets nothing. The second strike is equally fruitless, and he catches his thumb on the third strike, tearing the skin just beneath his nail. 

He can’t believe that just a few short leagues from his home, the air is so much more frigid. He blames the absence of the sun and the higher altitude. He thinks the blood on his thumb is going to freeze against his skin.

Gem presses up beside Jimin, whining, doing her best to keep him warm. Jimin has half a mind to give up on starting a fire and bury his fingers in her thick fur instead, but he won’t make it more than an hour like that. He needs a fire; he needs heat.

“”If only these sparks would catch,” he spits, half-heartedly striking the flint and stone again. Nothing happens, and Jimin groans, sitting back on his heels. He looks up at the crescent moon, sighing. His breath is white in the chill air, and Gem sets a paw on his thigh, whimpering again.

“I know, girl,” Jimin whispers to her, leaning over to bury his nose in the fur of her neck. “You’re too old for this, and I’m too human.” Gem snorts and twists her head to lick Jimin’s ear. Jimin jerks up, shoving at her with his shoulder. The dog just presses closer to him. She needs the warmth of a fire too, Jimin tells himself, and he readjusts the flintstone in his hand, looking at the faint glow of the moon across the blood streaked on its surface. He rubs his thumb over it, watching more red color the surface, and an idea strikes him.

It had taken the unwelcome appearance of a circle mage for Jimin’s mother to finally tell him the truth, but now he knows exactly what it is he carries on his person.

_Dragonstone._

Jimin was never a good student in the small schoolhouse he attended in his younger years, deciding hunting and trapping was more important after he had learned to read and write, but he would be an absolute idiot if he didn’t know what dragonstone is. The simple rock Jimin carries is no less than a dragon’s egg, the unborn child of the one of the most fantastic creatures to ever roam his home country.

Jimin used to love to listen to the stories about them; they were one of the few things interesting enough to hold his attention when he did attended school. At the time, dragon history had just become a dateable tale with a beginning and end. The dragons disappeared from the country around the same time as the birth of Jimin and most of his classmates. There are rumors that the Circle tried to enslave them, but many prevailing theories claim the dragons had chosen death over enslavement.

The scalebonds of the dragons had disappeared that year too, leaving the world without a trace as to whether or not the dragons were alive.

And yet here Jimin is with an unborn dragon in his possession, trying to start a fire.

He’s an idiot. 

Jimin drops the jagged stone and lifts the dragonstone out of the pack instead. The surface warms his fingers, and he takes a deep breath.

“Please,” he whispers and strikes the flint over the smooth jade surface.

Sparks fly, catching on the kindling, and the fire roars to life faster and hotter than any fire Jimin has started before. Jimin falls back in shock, watching wide wide eyes as the fire dances with colors other than yellow and red. Green and purple dance among the others, and the warmth caresses Jimin’s face like the touch of an old friend. Jimin could cry with relief, the feeling returning to his cheeks and hands. Gem barks at it, settling down against Jimin’s side with her tail wagging.

He stares at the reflection of the flames on the green stone. He remembers his teacher telling him that the Circle had destroyed any dragonstones they found, and Jimin has no doubt the mage that had followed him had every intention to destroy this dragonstone too. 

But if that were the only thing the mage wanted, why did Jimin’s mother yell for Jimin to leave? Why was she worried for Jimin’s life?

“Nothing makes sense,” Jimin whispers to the stone as if the unborn dragon inside is going to have any answers. Gem twists to put her head on his knee, and Jimin strokes her neck absentmindedly, leaving the stone resting in his lap while he struggles to unwrap some salted pork with his free hand. 

He wishes he had his bow and quiver with him. If he’d only had another minute, he could have left prepared to face the end of fall alone with his dog, trekking up to the mountains. Instead, all he has is one hunting knife strapped to his thigh, a bag full of salty provisions, a dragonstone, and a letter.

Jimin jolts. The letter.

He scrambles away from Gem, reaching for the pack his mother had given him, rooting through it until his stiff fingers close over what feels like nothing for than a fold piece of parchment. He tugs it free of the sack, settling down cross-legged in front of the fire. He opens the parchment carefully, wincing when every time he unfold another crease, the paper threatens to tear.

How long ago did his mother write this, he wonders, and why is her handwriting an art form?

Jimin bites his lip, unable to fathom the truth that his mother whom he believed for so long to be illiterate, is actually a master of the quill. The date at the top reads only a few months after Jimin’s fifth birthday.

She’d written this just after the first time he found the dragonstone, he realizes. 

_My beautiful boy,_ the letter begins. He can almost hear the words as if his mother were right next to him reading them aloud. Jimin grits his teeth and angles the parchment so the firelight illuminates every letter. _There are things that should never be said in a letter, and all of this written here is nothing that I have any excuse for not telling you sooner. And there is much that needs to be said, but I cannot put it in writing._

Jimin squints at the parchment, reading his mother’s words as she recounts five-year-old Jimin bringing her a dragonstone for the first time. She describes her fear, calling it a consuming but not shocking thing. She says it’s naive of her to believe that sending Ferris away with the stone with rid them of it forever, but she wasn’t ready for fate to catch up with them yet.

She doesn’t say what fate she means, her lack of actual answers in written form just as frustrating as her avoidance of questions when talking face to face. 

_If I have to send you away, then I have done so for your own safety,_ his mother writes, following that with an assurance that the Circle will not kill her. _They’ll try to use me to get to you, and you must never let them._

Curiosity is a disease that spreads through Jimin’s limbs, and he scours the letter for more information about anything. His mother implores he follow her directions, guiding him north into the mountains. She asks that he go as quickly as he can, that he not let anyone know he carries a dragonstone on his person.

 _Do not stop anywhere, and do not stop for anything,_ the letter says. _Do not let anyone see you. That mark on your wrist is no birthmark. It is a tell tale sign that you are in contact with dragon magic. Do not let it be seen._

Jimin rolls his eyes. He’s in the middle of nowhere right now. There is no one to see him whether or not he keeps his wrist covered. It’s too cold for bared skin anyway. 

His adopted father’s name on the parchment draws Jimin’s attention, and he reads over his mother thanking Ferris for everything he’s done for them.

 _He was a great father to you,_ his mother writes, _but he and I were not ever together._ She follows this with claims that she still loves Jimin’s real father very much, but she doesn’t leave any clues as to who he is or why he wasn’t with them. She does, however, say that there are people who can tell Jimin who he is, who his father is.

 _These people can explain to you the truth that the Circle has forbidden be spoken,_ his mother writes. _You will know them as the men who live in two bodies._

Jimin’s eyebrows furrow. Men who live in two bodies? He doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what that means at all. His mother tells him these two-bodied men will know the moment he enters their lands. She writes that they will recognize him for what he is immediately, that those who know magic will always find him.

He thinks of the circle mages, and terror burns the back of his throat. 

_Tell them your name is Jimin Park,_ the letter reads. Jimin had heard that surname before, but he can’t place it, his mind too full of words written in beautiful handwriting. Jimin reads the last line of the letter, and his eyes blur with tears.

 _I love you, my son. Never forget that._

His mother did not sign her name, but in the space below the end of her letter, a series of markings that Jimin has never seen before are written. He wonders if this is the writing system of the King’s speech. He stares at the sharp lines and circles that make up the writing to no avail; he can’t understand a thing. 

_Do not stop for anything,_ the letter had said, and Jimin growls.

“Damnit,” he mutters. He’s exhausted but worried if he stops here for too long by himself, he won’t get to wake up. Jimin forces himself to his feet and surveys the area around him. The fire is warm, but its light only spreads into endless darkness. There aren’t any towns nearby here that Jimin is aware of, no crowds to get lost in, so the safest thing he can do is keep moving.

Jimin folds the letter and stuffs it in the pack along with the dragonstone. He’s lost and alone except for Gem, but that’s going to have to be enough. He kicks dirt over the fire, and the flames struggle and suffocate, leaving nothing but a wisp of smoke curing in pale moonlight. 

“Gem, get up,” Jimin whispers, nudging the dog’s shoulder with his boot. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

The dog groans, rolling over onto her paws, standing obediently. She yawns, arching her back. Little shivers run down her legs and she shakes out her fur. 

“Let’s go,” Jimin says mostly to himself. Gem barks low in agreement. They take off, walking slower than had up to this point. It makes Jimin uncomfortable in this unfamiliar forest, but he has to be careful to not completely exhaust himself. Passing out in this cold would be a fatal mistake. 

He checks every step he takes, unable to see much beyond what the moonlight can illuminate. He can’t see Gem’s brown fur at all, listening to her paws on the underbrush to assure himself she’s still there. 

In the distance through the widest gaps between the trees, Jimin can just barely make out the highest mountains. They’re leagues away still, but Jimin has nothing else to aim for. He has no other idea of where to go with the dragonstone but his mother’s instructions.

He keeps walking and praying for sunlight.

**+=+**

Jimin makes it only a couple of days, sleeping for a few hours in the daylight before moving on. His pack has half a piece of salted pork, a creased letter, and a dragonstone - less than half the contents he started with. Jimin is ready to eat anything _but_ salted pork and more than ready to sleep without fear of capture or death jerking him awake every few minutes. Even Gem is lagging, her tail hanging limply behind her, and Jimin is forced to remember that the dog is eleven years old now. They both need proper rest and a warm meal, and neither of them have the energy to hunt for food.

Jimin adjusts the bag over his shoulder and pats his pocket. He’d found more money than a peasant woman would reasonably have sewn into the lining of the pack, and Jimin is slowly coming to terms with the fact that his mother has never been a simple woman of humble station.

When Jimin had been old enough to understand that Ferris was not his father by blood, his mother had explained to him that she had an old lover whom she left after becoming pregnant by him. She had told Jimin that Ferris had been there for her and had taken Jimin in as if he were his own. The story, Jimin knows now, is a mere fraction of the truth, told in such a way that Jimin never felt led to ask after the full story of his blood-related father.

He regrets that now. He wish he knew more than that he needs to go into the mountains. The instructions make him feel more lost than the endless woods do. All he’s managed to deduce is that his mother and father were from the King’s City based on his mother speaking the King’s speech. 

If his mother had loved his father, why did she leave?

If the dragonstone was all the Circle mage was after, why did his mother tell Jimin to flee?

The questions are endless, and the answers are elusive. Jimin sighs, patting his pocket of money again. At least, for the first time in his life, he has a little extra money.

“Want a streak, Gemma?” Jimin asks his dog, and Gem’s tail wags for the first time since yesterday. Her tongue rolls out of her mouth.

“Me too, girl,” Jimin says, petting her ears. “Me too. Anything but pork.” Gem barks at that.

They trudge onward, heading towards the northeastern mountains, the sunset slowly falling behind them. The sky lights up a brilliant red; it reminds Jimin of the view of sunset over the town center back home.

Just after the sun is barely showing its last rays over the western treetops, the murmur of distant voices and a horse’s bray reaches Jimin’s ears. Gemma perks up, her tail wagging cautiously behind her. Jimin’s legs are moving before he really comprehends what his body is doing, turning towards the last light of sunset and hurrying out of the trees. 

The smells and warm colors of a town at dusk greet them, people milling about with food and other purchases tucked under their arms. 

A smile splits Jimin’s face. A town means a tavern, and a tavern means food and real sleep. 

“What do you want to eat, Gem?” Jimin asks the dog, practically skipping forward with her at his heels. “Turkey? Duck? Pheasant?” Gem barks. “All three?” Jimin laughs, stumbling onto the dirt road. “Me too, girl.” They walk together into the town with a quickened step, revitalized just by the smell of heady soups and savory meats. Jimin hopes he looks like nothing more than a weary traveler because he sure feels like one, but he’s also the holder of a dragonstone.

He tries to be diligent, to look around for any person dressed like a member of the Circle, but his eyes are too readily drawn towards the tavern tucked in between a dressmaker's shop and a butcher’s shop. 

It’s one of the roudier taverns, judging by the crowd inside, but that’s good. He won’t be noticed in the mess of people.

There are a dozen or so men dressed in coats similar to his, fur-lined and built for braving the coldest hunting seasons. Jimin reaches up to tug his hat from his head, stuffing it in his pocket. There’s a vacant section of bench alongside on of the tables, and Jimin makes a beeline for it, plopping down with a tired sigh. He drops his bag at his feet, checking behind him to make sure Gem followed him to the table.

She noses at his arm.

“I’ll get you something soon, girl,” Jimin promises. He glances up, looking for one of the tavern servers and catches the eye of one of the girls. He waves a beckoning hand at her, and she immediately lights up, her smile suddenly wider and eyes bright.

She walks through the aisles between the tables with a grace born of familiarity with the ruckus.

“Evenin’, sir,” she says, and then her expression falls. Jimin’s stomach plummets too. “Oh. I’m sorry, but you can’t bring dogs in here.” Gem’s tail stops thumping the floor.

“Aw,” Jimin pouts at the waitress, trying to take it in stride. “She’s not trouble. Won’t you let her stay?” He’ll never be proud of this, but he hold out a couple silvers for the waitress, setting them in her hand. “Please?” He curls her fingers over the money.

The waitress hesitates only a moment her eyes wide at the sight of the silver coins. “Of course, sir,” she says. “After all, such a lovely lady should never have to stay outside, right?” She leans down, cooing at Gem, and Jimin looks away quickly from her deep cleavage.

“R-right,” he stammers. The girl sits down next to him, leaning against his arm. Jimin lips his lick and curls his fingers in the hem of his coat. 

The girl smiles, her painted lips curling prettily. “What can I get fer you?” she asks, mid-country accent slurred between the syllables of the King’s speech and the common tongue. 

“Mead,” Jimin orders without hesitation. HE glances at the girl’s chest pressed to his arm and swallows. “Please,” he coughs.

“Aye, sir,” she agrees. Jimin has never been called ‘sir’ before in his life; he can’t say he quite likes it. “Anythin’ to eat?” Jimin shrugs, forcing himself to smile at her in what he hopes is a sweet way that doesn’t betray how uncomfortable he feels. Her proximity is too much, and he thinks maybe bribing her into letting Gem stay wasn’t his wisest decision. 

He doesn’t really want anyone clinging to him, but especially not a girl. Girls are noisy, and if Jimin had learned anything from the village girls, it’s that they can’t keep secrets from each other.

“Surprise me,” Jimin answers, smiling so hard his eyes nearly close. It’s the easiest way to look at the waitress - through squinted eyes. 

“Alright,” the girl agrees. “I’ll be right back then. Don’t find a room too quick without me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jimin forces himself to say. The girl scampers off, and Jimin turns his face up towards the ceiling and stretches his arms out in front of him, flexing his fingers. Gem tugs lightly on his coat with her teeth, and Jimin groans.

“Yeah, girl. I know,” he tells her, scratching her ears. “I’m dumb.” Gem growls again, tugging, and Jimin glances down to bat her away or tell her to quit it when a sudden hush falls over the whole tavern. 

Jimin looks up towards the entrance, following the gaze of all the patrons, and there, standing in all black, the amulet around his neck a simple silver circle, is someone that sets Jimin’s heart racing in a fight or flight instinct. 

“Relax,” the death wraith calls out. “I’m not here for anyone. Just a good meal like the rest of you.” His speech in the common tongue is impeccable, no accent to be detected. His eyes settle on Jimin, and Jimin stiffens, suddenly wishing he'd chosen a more crowded table and not one with space directly across from him. Gem tugs on his coat again, harsher this time, urgency in the action. Her hackles are raised, but Jimin can't move, can't make himself look any more suspicious than his dog is already making him.

The death wraith strolls through the silence, unphased, his hood still drawn over his head. His long cloak flutters around his feet, making his look almost like he’s floating. The light of the torches lining the tavern walls catch underneath the lip of the hood, and Jimin can just make out features that are square and strong, pale blond hair falling in the man's eyes, dangling down to his cheekbones.

"Go back to your meals," the death wraith repeats himself. "I'm naught but a traveler like the rest of you." He says something else then, his voice smoothing into a gentle murmur that edges on something like a plea. Jimin can’t understand what he says; for a moment, he resents his mother for never teaching him the high tongue. He could really use an understanding of the King’s speech the farther north he travels.

The death wraith strides through the careful rebirth of conversation, and Jimin can’t decide whether to stare at him or at the ceiling or his hands as the death wraith gets nearer and nearer to his table. 

The conversation in the tavern is almost back to an overwhelming din when the death wraith turns and sits without preamble in front of Jimin. He pushes his hood back, and Jimin gasps. The face he sees now is not the face he’d seen underneath the hood.

“You-?” Jimin starts, pointing.

“Me,” the death wraith replies calmly as if that’s any sort of answer to whatever question Jimin had been trying to ask. This face the death wraith wears is beautiful, startlingly so. Jimin swallows. 

“I’d be careful with that,” the death wraith says, his eyes flicking from Jimin’s face to his wrist. “Powerful people and greedy people alike won’t let you leave here if they see something like that around these lands.” Jimin looks to his wrist, his hand still extended to point at the death wraith, and see his sleeve has slipped. Without the leather bindings he wears under his mitts around his hands and wrists, the dark mark on his wrist is in plain view.

Jimin yanks his hand back to himself, tugging his sleeve down. 

“With what?” he demands. “A birthmark?” The death wraith grins, and Jimin can’t help but gasp, watching the rest of the man’s image ficker, pale hair fading to black. Jimin’s never seen a death wraith this closely before, has only heard about them and seen shadows of their presence in routine checks around his home village every year. His mother always warned him away from them, and Jimin hadn’t wanted to get near to them ever. Agents of the Circe are just as terrifying as their masters, using the magic of their masters to do the dirty work of the country’s government.

Whatever title they had used originally has since been lost to the term death wraith - so coined after the number of deaths that follow their appearances. 

“That’s not a birthmark,” the death wraith says. “But we’ll use the term for now.” His smile is so gentle that Jimin’s speeding heart begins to relax against his better judgement. The death wraith is handsome, the angles of his features much more similar to Jimin’s than many of the men he’s seen around these parts. His eyes curve, something that Jimin’s do when he smies too, and belatedly, Jimin realizes the man may just be showing him whatever face he thinks Jimin with find comfort with. 

Jimin’s hand inches close to the hunting knife strapped to his thigh. 

“Did you order?” the death wraith asks, light and conversation. What game is he playing, Jimin wonders. “The food here is astoounding, I’m told.”

“By someone you later killed?” Jimin asks before he can stop himself. He fidgets. Coughs. “I… uh. I hear people don’t often talk to death wraiths.”

The man’s eyes widen, and he snorts into a laugh. “They don’t,” he agrees. “It’s quite lonely. But most people are willing to talk to a friendly face.”

Jimin narrows his eyes. Was he right? Is this just an illusion? He doesn’t know much of anything about magic beyond the stories told in the village, but he doesn’t know much about dragons either. And he’s in possession of an unborn one. 

With dread closing its fingers around Jimin’s throat, he realizes this man might be here for the dragonstone. He fingers the pommel of the hunting knife.

“Why are you talking to me?” he questions.

“I also like to talk to friendly faces,” the death wraith answers flippantly. “Besides,” he leans in close, and his voice is so low that Jimin has to read his lips to understand what he’s saying. There’s no way anyone else in the tavern would be able to hear him. “Especially when that friendly face is another magical being in reach of the King’s City.”

Jimin blinks. Is he talking about him? He wrinkles his nose. “I’m not a death wraith,” he responds quickly. “And I’m not a mage either, for that matter.”

“What a coincidence,” the death wraith says, and he’s still speaking in less than a whisper. “Neither am I.”

Jimin is not convinced. He regrets entering this town and this tavern. He should have stolen something from the kitchen and kept running. He should have listened to his mother’s instructions. He reaches for Gem, tapping her shoulder, something he taught her long ago to mean to get ready to attack. He used it in hunting, but he thinks Gem will understand. He hopes so, anyway.

“Liar,” he accuses. “I saw you use magic.”

“You don’t know much about magic,” the man counters, and that’s an unfortunate truth. This man, however, obviously knows quite a bit. He recognized the mark on Jimin’s wrist as a sign of contact with dragon magic, and he’s changed from one face to another-

 _Oh,_ Jimin thinks suddenly. His mother had told him to look for men who live in two bodies. Could this man be one of them? 

“Who are you then?” he demands, keeping his voice low, emulating the stranger’s previous tone. Gem nudges Jimin’s hand, unsure what he wants her to do. He grabs the fraying collar around her neck, holding her still.

“Seokjin,” the man says, extending a hand over the table. Jimin stares at his hand, and Seokjin extends it a little further. “Come now,” he says. “Don’t be rude.”

Slowly, Jimin releases Gem’s collar and reaches over the table to take the man’s hand. He keeps his other hand on his hunting knife just in case. Jimin’s fingers graze the offered hand, and Seokjin doesn’t move to clasp Jimin’s hand, grabbing his wrist instead, fingers closed over the mark there. “Don’t tell me your name,” Seokjin orders.

“Why not?” Jimin responds, a little louder than he meant to. Seokjin tightens his grip on Jimin’s wrist, and he winces. 

“It’s not safe,” Seokjin responds, his grip tightening further. “Don’t say your name.” He stares at Jimin, and Jimin bites his lip, nodding in agreement. Seokjin seems appeased by that, releasing Jimin’s wrist. Where the detailed mark once was is now a band of black, fully filled in. 

“What did you-?”

Seokjin shakes his head. Frustration churns in Jimin’s chest. He’s getting really tired of people refusing to answer him.

“So it’s safe for you to say your name but not mine?” Jimin tries instead.

Seokjin just shrugs and smiles again. “I’m no one,” he tells Jimin. “My name holds no meaning, but yours does.”

Jimin gapes. “You know me?” he whispers. He thinks of his mother’s words, her orders to tell the people in the mountains that his name is Jimin Park. She said they would know him immediately, and if this man really is a man who lives in two bodies, maybe Jimin should have expected him to know him. Maybe his mother meant those men would know without him saying anything. 

“No,” Seokjin says. “But I know what you are.” He taps Jimin’s wrist.

“What do you know?” Jimin challenges. “What am I?” He’s tainted by dragon magic, sure, but he is not anything other than a southern village boy as far as he knows. This man seems to think differently.

The man gapes. “You don’t know?”

“I do,” Jimin snorts, rolling his eyes. He has no clue what Seokjin is talking about, but Seokjin doesn't need to know that. “I want to know if you’re full of shit or what. So, what am I?”

“Handsome,” answers from Jimin’s left in the voice of the serving girl from early. Jimin jerks out of his staring at Seokjin, suddenly remembering that he came here for food and rest, not to interrogate a man posing as a death wraith.

Jimin looks up at the waitress. In one hand she carries a plate piled high with dressing and a turkey leg and in the other she carries a mug of steaming mead. "Rich. Hungry. Maybe in need of a room?" She settles herself down next to Jimin again, and she presses herself right up against him almost immediately. "Sir, I daresay, if you need a place to stay fer the night, you can stay with me, if you like."

"Don't daresay," Seokjin interrupts whatever response Jimin struggles to make, his eyes dark and sharp. His hood is back over his head, and the square features Jimin had seen when the man had first made his appearance are back. His eyes flash underneath the blond hair. "You might not want to be making bedmates of a man in the company of a wraith, I _daresay._ " The girl gulps, and Jimin reaches into his pocket, pulling out another few silvers.

"Here," he says as if Seokjin’s interference isn’t a welcome thing. "I think it's probably best if you leave now."

"Yes, sir," the girl stammers, pale face focused on Seokjin. "Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir." She takes the money, scrambling away as fast as she can. Jimin sucks in a relieved breath.

"You don't like girls, I take it?" Seokjin asks when the waitress has disappeared. Jimin catches himself gaping as he drops his hood, dark hair and angled features returning to view.

Jimin flushes and fidgets. “It’s not- I’m just. It’s not the right time for that, I guess,” he says. “So I wouldn’t say-”

"I would," Seokjin interrupts. Jimin is realizing he has a habit of doing that. "Call me presumptuous, but I caught your attention far more quickly than she did, and I know a gorgeous girl when I see one."

Jimin’s mind is reeling. "I-"

"It's alright, you know," Seokjin continues, waving a dismissive hand. "Where we're going, you won't have time for boys or girls anyway." He pulls Jimin's mug of mead away from him before Jimin can take a much needed gulp of the alcohol. "Eat," he orders.

“You’re not in charge of me,” Jimin retorts, reaching for the mug. Seokjin dumbs it on the ground. “Hey!”

“If you’re planning to make it where you’re going alive, then right now, if I were you, I’d listen to me,” Seokjin hisses. The room feels like its spinning around Jimin again, the same feeing he got when his mother was giving him orders and telling him nothing. Change is a constant, but Jimin feels like he’s standing on the ceiling looking up at the floor. 

“Where am I going?” he asks.

“North,” Seokjin answers, which is a safe response all things considered. If he were making a guess, he wouldn’t be wrong. He keeps going, adding, “Somewhere there are people like you.”

He doesn’t say where the somewhere is, but Jimin has a feeling he means the mountains. 

“People like me?” Jimin echoes.

“Eat,” Seokjin reminds him, ignoring Jimin’s questioning lilt. Jimin frowns.

"Not until you answer me," he bargains, shoving his plate away from him. "I'm not going anywhere with someone who can't answer me directly."

Seokjin sighs. “Eat.”

“Answer me,” Jimin retorts.

"Did you consider that I'm not answering you for the same reason I didn't ask your name?” Seokjin snaps at him. “Some things should not be said where the ears to hear the words could belong to an enemy."

Jimin snarls, picking up the turkey leg and brandishing it at Seokjin. "What people like me?" he asks, mouthing the words more than he speaks them. Seokjin doesn't answer. "The last time someone told me to do something without explaining anything, I ended up hiding in the forest for nearly a week. I'm tired of running without a good reason to do so. So tell me." Seokjin inhales, and his broad shoulders square underneath his black clothing.

"In your language, they're called scalebonds," he answers, gesturing for Jimin to eat. "Those who have a connection with dragons." He pushes Jimin’s plate back close to him.

Jimin eyes Seokjin, taking a careful bite, swallowing before he argues with Seokjin. "But I don't have any connection," he says. He holds up his wrist. "Just a taint.”

“Don’t say anymore,” Seokjin orders. “I’ve probably already said to much.” His eyes scan the room. Jimin takes another bite of his turkey leg and ignores him.

“I’m not a scalebond just because I have a dragon-”

"Don't say it!" Seokjin warns.

"-stone," Jimin finishes. 

The air stills, and even with the loud chatter of the tavern around them, Jimin feels like he and Seokjin are trapped in a bubble of silence. Seokjin's already light skin pales, and he shoves himself to his feet.

"Get up," he orders.

Jimin whines around another mouthful of turkey. "But I-"

"Get up," Seokjin hisses, and then Gem leaps to her paws, barking loudly.

"Oi!" a loud, booming voice calls around the tavern. The tavern owner ambles out of the kitcher. "No dogs in 'ere!"

"Let's go," Seokjin urges, and Gem growls louder, nose pointed towards the door. "Boy!"

"Wait," Jimin tries to says, pulling his bag over his shoulders again. "Seokjin, what is going on?"

" _Boy,_ " is hissed in an accent and voice that Jimin recognizes instantly. 

The mage is here. 

Fear sends Jimin’s heart racing, and he whips around to face the entrance to the tavern. A true and horrible silence fills the establishment. The mage says something else in King's speech, and Gem barks, the fur at the back of her neck standing up, her teeth bared.

“Oi!” the tavern owner yells again. Jimin pays him no mind, ignoring his footsteps behind him. “I said no dogs!”

The mage keeps talking in the King’s speech, and Jimin just wants to run. 

“Shittin’ mages,” the tavern keeper says, the terror in his voice shaking his low timbre. 

Seokjin is suddenly at Jimin's side, his hood over his head again. He answers in the King's speech, looking every inch the death wraith he is pretending to be. Jimin clutches at the knife strapped to his thigh. The mage answers Seokjin, his features filled with hate and excitement, his focus on Jimin.

It’s the first time Jimin has seen bloodlust in a pure, unbridled form.

"Prepare to run," Seokjin whispers to Jimin.

"Heel," Jimin orders Gem in response. The dog presses in closer to his side immediately.

"I suggest everyone leave," Seokjin calls to the people gathered in the tavern. No one moves. "Now," Seokjin snaps, and the silence shatters as people rush around, gathering their belongs and shoving each other as they hurry for the various exits to the place. No one cares to be in the presence of a death wraith, but even fewer people care to be in the presence of a Circle mage.

The mage hisses something that Jimin can't understand, and Seokjin tilts his head to the side. The mage's amulet glows, the topaz stones flashing brightly.

"No," Seokjin answers in the common tongue. "You can't have him."

He dives forward, and Jimin barely gets to blink before Seokjin slams into the mage, the heel of his hand driving hard against the mage's sternum. Jimin hears the crack of bone, watches the mage fall.

"Seokjin," he breathes, amazed and petrified.

"Run," Seokjin orders. Jimin hesitates. "Run!" Seokjin yells at him, and Jimin takes off, Gem close behind him. He feels heat radiating from the pack on his back as he does, and he feels the sharp static of the mage's power as he passes him. He hears another crunch of bone, and he turns to see Seokjin lifting his boot from the mage's crushed neck. Blood drips from the dead mage's open mouth, and fear courses through Jimin again.

“Keep going!” Seokjin yells behind him, and Jimin doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He keeps running until he reaches the treeline, getting a few strides deep into the shadows before he has to slow, unsure of his footing. The moon isn't bright tonight, cloud cover pouring in, and he can just barely make out the branches on the ground. 

“Forward Gem,” Jimin directs the dog. “Lead me.” Gem barks softly, jumping ahead and leading Jimin deep into the blackness. Footsteps sound behind him, and Jimin is too focused to look back. He just prays its Seokjin behind him.

Jimin doesn’t call for Gem to stop until he can’t hear the town or see the lamplight. He stumbles to a halt, clutching at his pounding heart. He can barely see the stark band of black around his wrist, covering the black detailing there. He rubs at it with his other hand, but the thick black band doesn't budge, appears to be just as much a part of his skin as the other design had been.

"It's a glamour," Seokjin's voice explains, and Jimin jerks, staring at the black-cloaked figure. He isn’t even panting, standing calmly beside Jimin. He can barely see him, but then Seokjin holds out his hand, and light surges from underneath his skin. "Much like this is."

"What?" Jimin breathes.

"Magic," Seokjin explains, "is a funny thing. The Circle thinks it can accomplish anything, but as all the kings before them knew, some power needs to be controlled because as much as it can do, there's enough that it can't."

"But it can do this?" Jimin asks, waving his hand through the sparks of light showing around them.

"A parlor trick," Seokjin laughs. "All shapeshifters have just enough unused magic in their blood for these sorts of glamors, but I'm afraid I can't do much more."

“Shapeshifter,” Jimin repeats. “So that’s…”

“Yes,” Seokjin confirms. “The King’s speech translates my people to be called ‘the men of two bodies.’ Common tongue is more accurate.”

It makes so much sense all of a sudden, his mother’s wording in her letter. It explains every strange phrase she’s ever used through the years. Common tongue isn’t her first language, Jimin realizes. King’s speech is.

Jimin holds his glamoured wrist up to the light, and both flicker, the world going dark for a moment again and the detailed black showing on Jimin's skin.

"One glamour will always cancel out another," Seokjin explains. He grabs Jimin's wrist again. "I suppose you don't need this anymore." He pulls his hand away, and in the light Jimin can see the full design on his wrist. He touches the skin there, and it feels just as smooth as it had before the glamour had been placed.

"How did the mage know to find me there?" Jimin asks. "I hadn't left a trail to be followed." Seokjin shakes his head, making to walk alongside Jimin. Gem whines.

"You can tell me your name now," Seokjin offers instead of answering.

Jimin scoffs. "You really think I want to tell my name to someone who doesn't care to answer any of my questions?"

Seokjin smirks then. "You’re learning," he says with something like approval in his voice. He begins walking. "Come. I'll explain on the way."

"To the mountains?" Jimin asks, and Seokjin nods.

"Yes," he says. "Where you can train. Where you can be safe."

"I can protect myself just fine," Jimin snaps.

"With that knife strapped to your thigh?" Seokjin mocks. "You can't defend magical attacks like that. The Circle knows your face. They know your mark. They know what you are."

"Scalebond," Jimin breathes. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Seokjin assures. "And they know so. So you should know so too." It's a combination of Seokjin's abundant knowledge and his mother's directions that convince Jimin to follow Seokjin deeper into the woods, the mountains looming over them.

"Okay," Jimin says. "I have a lot of questions."

"We have lot of walking to do," Seokjin says. "A lot of time for a lot of answers." In his pack, the dragonstone warms against Jimin's back.

**+=+**

The journey is still exhausting but far shorter than it would have been without Seokjin leading the way. He treks through the woodlands as if they were whispering directions to him. As Jimin comes to find out, as a shapeshifter, Seokjin’s not even fully human. He describes himself as a member of a race of people born with magic that connects them to any other living creature of their choice. Exiled when the Circle took power, he says.

"Our ability to take the form of an animal makes us nearly impossible to find," Seokjin tells Jimin during their walk. "But most of us never lived with humans anyway. Some of us elected to return to the lands of our people, and some of took routes like me."

"What route did you take?" Jimin asks him.

"The one that helps me find magical beings within the Circle’s reach," Seokjin explains. "One that takes me far from everyone I love too often. But I hope that, in the end, I'll find the right scalebond that will be able to return peace to this country."

"Peace," Jimin breathes. He doesn’t know much about politics; he’s reaizing he doens’t know much about anything. His mother’s need to shelter him has left him at a severe disadvantage in this world. Even though he grew up within the Circle’s reach, he feels safer away from them with Seokjin already. 

“Peace,” Seokjin repeats. “The Circle mandates the schools around the country to teach a false history. Words like dragonstone have been made traceable.”

“How?” Jimin asks. “It’s a word.”

“Words have power,” Seokjin tells him. “And a unique pattern to the power of that word. That pattern is what they can trace.”

Jimin realizes belatedly that Seokjin has just said a traceable word. He looks around frantically, and Seokjin drops an arm around Jimin’s shoulders.

“We’re out of their reach,” he soothes. “They can’t hear us. You can scream that you have a dragonstone and no one will come.”

Jimin nods, sufficiently calmed. 

"When the king is returned to the throne and magical and non magical beings alike are able to live freely again, then we will have peace," Seokjin continues his lesson, looking hopeful. Jimin feels entirely foolish for not even knowing the country isn't currently at peace. Before the stone, everything had seemed fine and normal.

Now, nothing does.

"Dragons," Seokjin tells him, "are some of the most powerful beings on this earth. The king had one scalebond, one shapeshifter, one mage, and one human on his court of advisees. The strength of his armies came from the scalebonds who fought for him, but when they were assassinated by the Circle mages, their dragons were killed as well. Without them, there was no way to stop the Circle from taking over."

Jimin frowns. “But what about the King? Wouldn’t he stop them?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Right now, we just hope he's still alive," Seokjin answers. "We think he is, but we can’t be sure. We don't know of any living relatives - just rumors. And there is no other line in place to succeed the throne." He clenches a fist. "We really need him to be alive."

"I hope so too, then," Jimin says, throwing Seokjin a smile and getting one in return. Seokjin really is handsome, Jimin thinks. It’s still weird to him that he's not human as much as he looks like one. "So," he says, clearing his throat. "What animal can you turn into?"

Seokjin glances at him like he’s stupid, which, with how little he knows, Jimin feels like he is. 

"You've already seen," Seokjin says.

"What?"

Seokjin looks at him, and then suddenly it's not Seokjin looking at him but the face of a blond man with a chiseled jaw.

"But that's a human!" Jimin protests.

Not-Seokjin shrugs. "Humans are animals too," he says. "At least, as far as shapeshifters are concerned."

The trip progresses like this, Jimin asking questions and sometimes having to wheedle them out of Seokjin.

"Precautionary habits," Seokjin always offers in apology. Jimin is learning to dig around his vague answers and ability to dodge the subject, and he's picking up a few words of the King's speech with every passing day. Seokjin, Jimin comes to learn, speaks three languages: that of his people, the common tongue, and that of the nobility.

Jimin almost forgets that there is an end to this journey through the woods, too caught up the language and history lessons to remember that he's traveling with the shapeshifter in order to become a piece of that history alongside the dragonstone tucked into his pack. But on the day they arrive at what Seokjin describes as 'here,' Jimin remembers that this isn't a fun camping trip.

This is him carrying out his mother's wishes.

The trees seem to whisper here, carrying secrets along their branches, and Jimin half expects them to start talking until a wolf walks out from between two trees. Jimin's eyes widen, and Gem barrels forward immediately.

"Gem!" Jimin yells, but his dog is already on the wolf, snarling. The wolf doesn’t fight back, its massive paws batting harmlessly at Gem's flanks as if he’s just playing.

"Taehyung, careful!" Seokjin yells, and he grabs Jimin's arm. "Go get your dog. Taehyung won't hurt her or you."

"Taehyung?" Jimin asks. “You’re friends with a wolf?” 

“He’s one of mine,” Seokjin says, and Jimin understands almost immediately at Seokjin's words. He's looking at another shapeshifter.

"Gem," Jimin orders, taking a few steps forward. "Heel." Gem calms her attack, her teeth in the wolf's neck. " _Heel,_ " Jimin orders again, more forcefully this time, and Gem staggers away from the wolf, hackles raised as she retreats to Jimin's side. She keeps her teeth bared, growling in warning as the wolf gets to his feet.

Then, where once there was a wolf, stands a naked boy who appears to be around Jimin's age, but if Seokjin's looks versus his age are anything to go by, a shapeshifter's appearance does not necessarily correlate with his age. Seokjin is fifty, but he looks no older than twenty-five.

"Seokjin," the new shapeshifter greets. His next words are almost sung, the words lilting and swaying in his mother tongue.

"Taehyung," Seokjin returns with a sigh. He unties his cloak and hands it to Taehyung. “This is no way to greet a new friend.” He says something in his own language, words practically a song, and then he's speaking the common tongue. "I've brought a scalebond."

"I know," Taehyung answers, tying the cloak around his waist. His words are accented where Seokjin's are not. "I could smell the dragonstone." Jimin flinches on principal of the word, glancing around, and Taehyung bursts out laughing. 

"Ran into a mage, did you? Don't worry. Here they cannot hear us." He takes a couple steps towards Jimin and then one backwards when Gem barks at him. "Ever protects us," he whispers like it's some grand reveal, but Jimin doesn't understand what that means. Ever?

Seokjin sighs again. “Put the cloak on Taehyung. He’s human.”

Taehyung pouts, but ties the cloak around his waist obediently. “Yoongi is human,” he mutters.

"Young is not new to all of this," Seokjin intervenes. "Perhaps it's best if we go up to meet the others and then introduce him."

"Him?" Taehyung asks. He looks at Seokjin and asks something in their language.

"No," Seokjin answers firmly in the common tongue. "I did not ask his name. I did not want to until we were under Hoseok's protection." Jimin blinks but does not ask the question that burns on his tongue. What is Hoseok? Who is Ever? Are they the same thing? Same person?

"So smart, cousin-mine!" Taehyung claps his hands together and spins on his heel. "Follow me, scalebond!" He starts walking, and it's with a jolt that Jimin realizes he's talking to him. He glances at Seokjin who nods, and Jimin follows after Taehyung, Seokjin beside him.

Even though Seokjin had told Jimin that they're 'here,' that they've arrived, it's another few hours of walking up the mountain’s side before Jimin hears anyone else, and most of what he hears doesn't not sound like human voices.

"What…?" he breathes to himself as they step through the thick of the trees into a wide clearing of rock. Around him, creatures of all colors and sizes roam free, and it's amazing.

Dragons. Dozens of them - maybe a hundred - roam free. The dragonstone in Jimin's pack warms to an almost uncomfortable level of heat, but it never burns Jimin. The mark on his wrist pulses, and he glances down to see the detail stretching down onto his palm, growing larger.

He looks up, and Taehyung is staring at his hand, a grin stolen over his features.

"A scalebond, yes," he says. "Come a little further. Not many of us are here, but you might as well meet us all at one time and introduce yourself." Taehyung takes off walking around the outside of the rock clearing, his boots staying in the grass. Jimin follows his example, and it's only when he hears a shout in Seokjin's voice that he realizes the shapeshifter has walked directly into the center of the plain of rock.

"Yoongi!" Seokjin yells. A moment of nothing follows his call, the dragons continuing to go about their business, and then a man is walking out from a circle of the amazing beasts, his grin huge. His chest and arms are bare, and Jimin shivers just at the thought of removing a single layer in this weather. Like this, Jimin can see the way his skin shines in the bright sunlight, and he realizes belatedly that the man, Yoongi, is covered in burn scars.

"Seokjin," Yoongi replies. He says something else that Jimin can't quite catch before he folds himself into Seokjin's arms, leaning his head back to kiss the shapeshifter fully.

"Oh," Jimin says.

"Did you like him?" Taehyung asks, suddenly right beside Jimin. His hand is in Gem's fur, and Jimin wonders how he missed his dog deciding Taehyung is safe. Jimin throws a bemused expression in Taehyung's direction, and the shapeshifter laughs. "Don't worry," he says. "I won't tell him. Wouldn't do anything anyway. They've been together since Yoongi learned what sex is." Jimin tries valiantly not to choke, but he fails.

"Don't you say anything, brat," Yoongi yells across the field. Jimin flinches, and Taehyung just cackles, baring his teeth at the man. One of the smaller dragons totters up to Yoongi, pushing its scaled head into the dip of Yoongi’s knee, and Yoongi crouches down to pet the young dragon.

"I'll say what I like, dragon tamer," Taehyung yells back.

"Dragon tamer?" Jimin asks. He doesn't remember Seokjin ever mentioning those during their walk.

"Not a real thing," Seokjin explains, walking up to Jimin with Yoongi beside him, their fingers laced. "Taehyung is just... silly."

"A good trait to have," Taehyung tells Jimin. "Too much seriousness makes you look like that." He gestures at Yoongi, and the man growls. "Or you end up with a bunch of dragons," Taehyung amends. "And start to behave like them." Yoongi growls.

"Let's go find the others, yeah?" Seokjin suggests, interrupting.

"Sure," Jimin agrees. Taehyung laughs, walking off with Gem right beside him. "He's stealing my dog," he whines.

"He turns into a dog," Yoongi mutters. "What would you expect?" He starts to walk after Taehyung when the same baby dragon from earlier screams, tottering after them. Yoongi sighs, but the expression on his face is undeniably fond.

"Cecile," he murmurs, opening his arms for the baby. "Go find your brother, yeah? I'll be back." Cecile cries again, her yellow scales flashing in the bright sun. "Go, go," Yoongi urges, patting her head. The dragon does something that seems like a sniffle before she totters off, and Jimin just stares at Yoongi.

"How do you...?" Jimin bites his lip.

"I grew up with them," Yoongi says, and the note of finality in his tone prevents Jimin from asking something else. "Now," Yoongi continues. "I’m sure the others are all gathered now, and Hyejin isn't partial to being kept waiting. Let's hurry." He takes the lead with Seokjin, taking Jimin around the rock clearing and through another grouping of trees to a small meadow where Gem and a wolf - Taehyung - are playing around with a stick.

Also waiting there is a group of four women and one boy.

"Seokjin!" the boy exclaims upon seeing them, and Seokjin steps away from Yoongi in time to catch the boy when he throws himself at him.

"Jeongguk," Yoongi explains briefly. "Seokjin's younger brother." The only family resemblance Jimin can determine between the two is that both are in possession of attractive features. He wonders how old this 'boy' really is.

"Hi," Jeongguk murmurs from Seokjin's side.

"Let's not make a long introduction out of us all, hm?" One woman, her hair a bright orange, calls out. On her fingertips, sparks of color seem to dance, and Jimin is entranced.

"Hyejin," Yoongi murmurs in explanation. "She's a mage." He points to the women beside her. "Wheein and Yongsun, both shapeshifters. And then Byulyi, another mage." Jimin flinches at the word mage, and Hyejin shows him a smile.

"Some of my brethren giving us a bad reputation?" she asks, partially teasing. "Don't worry. We're not going to attack you." Jimin takes comfort in the fact that neither she nor the other mage, Byulyi, wear amulets around their necks. Their fingers and ears are adorned with rings instead.

"Delighted to meet you," Jimin forces himself to say. The other mage, Byulyi, snorts.

"Don't lie, boy," she says. She waves her hand in a 'come here' gesture, and Jimin walks haltingly to stand before them. Taehyung and Gem bound over, Taehyung transitioning back into his human form. 

"Where's Hoseok?" he asks, and Wheein just shakes her head. Beside her, Hyejin waves her hand, and a loose smock appears on Taehyung’s person. Jimin still doesn’t understand how he’s not cold. Yoongi too.

"You know how he gets," Wheein says. The others don't seem particularly shocked by this news even if Jimin has no idea what that means. Who is Hoseok?

"So now that you know who we are," Yongsun says, twisting one long lock of hair around a finger, "I suppose now would be a good time for you to say who you are." The others give him an expectant look, and Jimin looks for Seokjin's encouraging nod before he takes a breath.

"So," Yoongi drawls. "Who are you?"

"Jimin McKay," Jimin answers automatically. 

“McKay,” Yongsun murmurs. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.” She looks at Byulyi, and the mage shakes her head.

“No one. He’s nobody to the humans.” 

Jimin thinks of where he grew up, how he grew up, and he can’t take offense to their words. He knows he’s of low birth. He puts his hands in the pockets of his coat, and the letter crackles in his pocket.

“Wait,” he says. “That’s not… that’s not my name. Actually.” 

"What?" Yoongi sneers. "You don't remember your own name or something?" He rolls his shoulders back. "I guess it's kind of common among scalebonds. The power of a dragon can really addle the mind."

"I only just learned my real name," Jimin corrects the dragon caretaker.

“Tell us,” Yongsun encourages. Jimin squares his shoulders and meets Seokjin's eyes. He gives him a gesture to go on. It sounds so odd in his head still, the family name having never left his lips before this moment. He breathes and lets the truth fall from his mouth. 

"My name is Jimin Park."

"Oh," Yongsun breathes. “That is a name we all know.” Seokjin gasps, and Yoongi and he have their fingers laced tightly together. Taehyung's grin is huge, and Jimin doesn't understand.

“Don’t you know what this means?” Taehyung asks, draping his arms over Hyejin’s shoulders. 

Her smile is almost wicked in her excitement. “Never thought I'd see the day a dragon chooses royalty." 

Jimin freezes, trying to fight off the feeling of the world tilting again. 

"It's wonderful to meet you," Taehyung says, kneeling before Jimin. The rest of the shapeshifters and mages kneel too, and Jimin can't breathe.

"Jimin Park, son of the Lost King."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fact: a comment has been known to feed writers for a week. 
> 
> Come find me on [twitter!](https://www.twitter.com/daestruct) Let's talk dragons and pretty boys, yeah?


	3. the dragon in the shell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Previously, on dragonstone:_
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> "My name is Jimin Park."
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> "Oh," Yongsun breathes. “That is a name we all know.” Seokjin gasps, and Yoongi and he have their fingers laced tightly together. Taehyung's grin is huge, and Jimin doesn't understand.
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> “Don’t you know what this means?” Taehyung asks, draping his arms over Hyejin’s shoulders. 
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> Her smile is almost wicked in her excitement. “Never thought I'd see the day a dragon chooses royalty." 
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> Jimin freezes, trying to fight off the feeling of the world tilting again. 
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> "It's wonderful to meet you," Taehyung says, kneeling before Jimin. The rest of the shapeshifters and mages kneel too, and Jimin can't breathe.
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> "Jimin Park, son of the Lost King."

Jimin feels like the ground is trying to slip out from underneath him. Back home, everything was a constant. Nothing changed, and Jimin thought of himself as someone unfazeable. With these people staring at him, calling him prince, he realizes he knows nothing of incomprehensible circumstances. He has lived his entire life in a false sense of security, the black mark on his wrist a warning sign hiding in plain sight.

 _”What?”_ Jimin sputters, staring at the group of people kneeling in front of him. Where Jimin comes from, no one kneels for any man. Where Jimin comes from, royalty is a distant concept, unimportant in the face of surviving harsh winters and hot summers. “I… _what?”_

He wavers where he stands. Gem presses her nose against his wrist, and it doesn’t ground him as much as he wishes it would.

“You know the King’s name, don’t you?” Wheein says, blatantly unimpressed. “Where did you find him, Seokjin?”

“Middle of nowhere,” Byulyi snorts. “You can hear his accent. He’s a bumpkin.”

“Outside of the midlands,” Seokjin answers. “Wandering up from the southern stretch. I just followed the trail of the dragonstone.”

“You didn’t know he’s the prince?” Byulyi questions, eyebrow raised. Yongsun pats her arm.

“We didn’t even know there _is_ a prince,” she reminds. “And yet, look who we have here.”

“I really didn’t know,” Jimin tries, grabbing onto the scruff of Gem’s neck. “It’s just… just a name.” The protest sounds so feeble when he knows his mother speaks the King’s speech, when he knows his mother had a secret stash of silver coins that a peasant woman has no means of obtaining.

“Park isn’t just a name,” Hyejin tells him, flicking her fingers. Another shower of sparks, blue and gold, falls from her hand. She seems to be overflowing with magic, and Jimin is very intimidated. He takes a step back, and Gem presses herself against his side.

All of these people are powerful, even Yoongi, who seems to be nothing other than a very odd human, has a peculiar strength about him. The man wears pants and boots and nothing else in freezing weather and dances with dragons- he can’t completely be _normal._

“He doesn’t speak anything but common,” Seokjin says.

Hyejin startles. “Oh,” she says. “You really have no idea what your name is.”

Jimin falters. “Jimin… Park?”

“You all are being unnecessarily obtuse,” Yoongi interrupts with a huge sigh. “Look at me, Jimin.” Jimin turns, and Yoongi is a little bit terrifying. “Park isn’t just a name. It means country in King’s speech. It’s the name of the royal family and no one else.”

Jimin blinks. Everything connects, yet he still grew up in the...what had Seokjin called it? The southern stretch? 

“I-” Jimin starts. “I…” He closes his mouth.

“You don’t believe us?” Hyejin asks.

Jimin shakes his head. “It’s not… I don’t know what to believe.”

“That’s alright,” Yongsun says, coming forward. She smiles, and the shape of her mouth is similar to Jimin’s mother’s. He finds it both comforting and disconcerting. He’s too distracted to move away before her soft fingertips are underneath Jimin’s chin, forcing him to look at her. “You’ll learn for yourself what you believe. We’ll help you.” 

Her image seems to float a bit, and Jimin remembers Seokjin telling him about the residual magic in shapeshifters’ bodies. What if this is an illusion? What if nothing he’s seeing is real at all? What if the mages here are actually members of the Circle? He shakes. The dragonstone warms against his back, and his wrist warms. Beside him, Gem growls.

“Step back from him,” Yoongi warns, and Yongsun glances at him.

“I’m not hurting-”

“I know that,” Yoongi interrupts, staring cautiously at a point near Jimin’s hip. “The dragon doesn’t.” Yongsun’s eyes widen, and she steps back with her focus in the same place as Yoongi’s. Jimin looks down too, and his wrist, too warm, is glowing, the black mark now a green that seems to spin and breathe on his skin.

Is this dragon magic?

Yongsun takes another step back, and the green calms and darkens, settling back into black spirals on Jimin’s skin. Gem quiets at Jimin’s side, but the fur on her back doesn’t relax.

Yoongi murmurs something that slides in a whisper, and the dragonstone warms against Jimin’s back. He startles.

“What was-?”

“There’s plenty of daylight left,” Yoongi says, clapping his hands together. He’s suddenly twice as terrifying and twice as excited. At Jimin’s side, Seokjin looks particularly hesitant.

“Lover,” he starts, halting in his speech. “Jimin just got here. We’ve been travelling.”

Yoongi only smiles wider. “I don’t know why you’re trying to waste time then.” The mages wear similar expressions, eyeing Jimin’s wrist. They reach out into the air, and Jimin can just barely make out of the way the air seems to condense into green smoke around their hands.

“How is it?” Taehyung asks, reaching out to curve his hand around Hyejin’s. His fingers don’t disturb the smoke the way Hyejin’s do.

“Powerful,” Hyejin murmurs. Byulyi nods and murmurs an agreement, and Jimin wants to ask, wants to know what’s happening. Seokjin crosses in front of Jimin, and his shoulders momentarily block the mages and Yoongi completely from view. It makes Jimin feel small, not protected. It draws him away from his curiosity about magic and into that place where the world doesn’t feel like the one he knows. His legs feel weak.

“He should sleep first,” Seokjin says.

“Yoongi’s the expert,” Taehyung’s voice cuts in, looking up from tangling his fingers with Hyejin’s. “Just let-”

Seokjin snaps something in his language at Taehyung, and Taehyung shrinks back behind Hyejin, holding onto her elbows. 

“The dragon is awake,” Yoongi says. “It’s the best time right now.”

“Jimin is tired,” Seokjin asserts. Byulyi gets to her feet, but Yoongi holds out a hand to stop her from saying or doing anything.

“Jimin won’t have to do anything but take a few steps,” Yoongi argues. “Seokjin, don’t argue with me.” Seokjin scoffs, and even though Yoongi had only said his lover’s name, it seems like he’s giving the command to everyone. 

“Yoongi, please,” Seokjin continues. “You haven’t even-”

A new voice joins the conversation, cutting between the two of them. For his quiet, Jimin had nearly forgotten Seokjin’s younger brother was there at all. Jimin looks at the last member of the whole group and doesn’t understand a thing he says, but Jeongguk is standing between Yoongi and Seokjin, just as tall and handsome as his older brother, arguing against them.

“Jimin,” Jeongguk says carefully, this accent thick around the common tongue, his words almost song-like like his native language, “can speak for himself.”

Jimin sags in gratitude. 

“He…” Jeongguk’s eyes flicker from his brother to Yoongi as he chooses his words. “He does not… understand. Yoongi wants. He does not understand.”

“He will understand,” Yoongi answers, voice soothing. “I know what I’m doing.” Jeongguk shakes his head.

“Explain to him,” he orders. “He choose. He… let? Him choose.”

“Jeongguk,” Seokjin begins, reaching out for his brother. Jeongguk steps back, showing his teeth. He narrows his eyes at Seokjin and begins talking to him in his own language, speaking quickly and with more volume as he goes. Jimin watches Seokjin’s shoulders slump, watches Yoongi grimace in the way men do when they know they’re wrong. 

Someone taps on Jimin’s shoulder.

“Wha-?”

“It’s just me,” Taehyung murmurs, absently patting Gem’s ears. He flashes a grin and points at the trio. “Seokjin is a little overbearing sometimes, and Yoongi is stubborn. Well, they both are. That’s why they’re together, probably.” He wrinkles his nose. “But Jeongguk doesn’t normally get in between them, so he must like you! Which is good because he’s kind of wary around people. Sometimes I think his final form will be a bunny or something because they’re so skittish, but then, I ended up being a wolf, and I’m probably more of a puppy. Don’t you think?” Jimin has no idea what Taehyung is talking about. He doesn’t know about final forms, and he doesn’t know about being with someone because of a penchant for arguing. 

Taehyung’s words fall from his mouth so quickly it’s a miracle Jimin is managing to keep pace. His accent twists some of the sounds, but it doesn’t stop the run of words. “...So, that’s, you know, at least Jeongguk is standing up for you. Even though he’s talking about himself now. I probably should have translated it all for you, do you think? So Jeongguk started out saying that you have your own voice, and then-”

“What were they arguing about?” Jimin interrupts.

“Huh?” Taehyung blinks, shaking himself out of his own rambling.

“Originally,” Jimin prompts.

Taehyung tilts his head in confusion. “Arguein-? _Oh_. Oh! Yoongi wants to hatch your dragon.” He shrugs like that’s a completely common thing to say.

“Hatch a dragon?” Jimin echoes.

Taehyung nods, his hair flopping on his forehead. “Yes! You’re here to be a rider, aren’t you? You need a dragon for that.”

Jimin’s eyebrows furrow. “A rider?” he copies. He’s never heard that term before.

“Scalebond,” Byulyi interrupts loudly, stopping everything. “Rider is the high tongue way to say scalebond.”

“You’ll have to learn King’s speech,” Yongsun speaks. “I think you’re the first dragon rider to not know it. We’ll teach you, of course.”

Jimin reels. “I’m not… not a dragon rider.” He stumbles over the words.

“Of course you are!” Taehyung says.

“No, he’s not,” Yoongi cuts in, breaking away from Seokjin and Jeongguk. Jeongguk has his arms crossed. “Not until you have a dragon.”

“Ask,” Jeongguk demands. Yoongi looks back at him with exasperation written on his scarred features.

“Fine,” he hisses. He fixes Jimin with an expectant stare. “Do you want to hatch your dragon now or sleep?”

Jimin doesn't know. He's floundering. He relays as much. “What does that… what do I… what?”

Yoongi sighs, gruff and dramatic, his hands thrown up in frustration. Jimin takes a step back, bracing himself instinctively. The dragonstone warms against his back, and the mark on his wrist tingles.

“Listen up, prince,” Yoongi starts, and the title sounds more like an insult than address of respect. “We're all speaking common. What don't you understand about sleep or getting your dragon out of that stone? Surely you know that eggs hatch. You come from the countryside. You must have at least seen chickens-"

“Stop!” Jeongguk shouts. The shocked pause that follows the outburst is enough to send words hurtling up Jimin's throat and out into the open. 

“How can you expect me to understand when this is all new to me?” Jimin demands. “You all speak common tongue but the words are unfamiliar. I'm not stupid; you just won't explain!” Jimin points at Yoongi, and a thrill runs through him, something like adrenaline. “You talk about magic, but I've never had contact with it before! You talk about dragons, but up until a few days ago I thought they were extinct!”

“Jimin, please, let me-" Gem barks loudly, cutting of whatever Seokjin wants to say.

“No!” Jimin rounds on Seokjin. “You know how new this all is to me, and you just want to send me to bed instead of explaining. Don't shelter me. I was sheltered for all my life, and that's why I'm here right now!” 

Seokjin stares at him, eyes wide, and he glances at Yoongi. Yoongi merely crosses his arms.

“We will have to wait for tomorrow if the sun goes down,” he warns. His foot taps on the ground. Gem growls at him.

Jeongguk rushes forward, coming up to Taehyung's side where he’s trying his best to keep Gem calm.

“I explain!” he offers, a bit frantic. He almost looks scared, and it's in that moment that Jimin realizes once again his mark is glowing green, the air seeming to warp around it. “Please calm down. I explain.”

Jimin meets the boy's eyes and wonders if he is as young as he looks. He takes a deep breath and slowly nods his head.

“Okay,” he says. “Tell me.”

Jeongguk gestures to the ground, lowering himself. “Sit,” he invites, and Taehyung gives Jimin an encouraging pat, joining his fellow shapeshifter on the ground. Haltingly, Jimin follows suit. Gem sits herself right beside him, her lip still curled.

“We…” Jeongguk gestures between himself and Taehyung and then at the rest, “uh… live? We live here because mages want destroy us.” He glances at Taehyung, and Taehyung nods. “So… so we, uhm, hoping? That dragon riders appear to…?” He leans into Taehyung’s ear and whispers something in his own language. 

“Free the country,” Taehyung provides.

“Mages,” Jeongguk finishes. “Riders are… the power? The army power.”

This much Jimin already knows; Seokjin had explained it to him. 

“It was honor,” Jeongguk continues. “Riding dragons… an honor.” He leans over to Taehyung again, whispering in their shared language, and Taehyung nods along as he listens.

“It used to be a ceremonial thing,” Taehyung says, speaking as Jeongguk continues to whisper to him in their language. “Someone affected by dragon magic would go to the King and present the mark.” Jeongguk taps Jimin’s wrist quickly and retracts his hand just as fast when the action catches Gem’s attention. “An older rider with a mature, female dragon would come to the ceremony and breathe on the dragonstone brought by the marked rider.”

“Female dragon has hotter fire,” Jeongguk explains, switching to talk directly to Jimin. “Open? Crack?”

“Hatch,” Taehyung supplies.

“He- aetch,” Jeongguk tries, “the dragonstone. And that is birth of the rider.”

“So I just need to get one of the dragons to breathe fire on my dragonstone to hatch my dragon?” Jimin looks to Taehyung for verification. He flashes a grin and pats Jeongguk’s knee.

“Not quite,” Yoongi interrupts. “You have to have ask a mature, female dragon, like Jeongguk said.” He jabs his thumb at his chest. “That’s where I come in.” He’s getting louder again, over-excited.

“Gentle, Yoongi,” Wheein murmurs in reminder.

“So you’ll help me,” Jimin asks. “All I have to do is set the dragonstone down and wait for the fire to be hot enough to crack the stone?”

“You’re the only one who can touch that dragonstone, Jimin,” Hyejin tells him. “The dragon inside will burn anyone else who touches it. You’re protected by that dragon’s magic. And if you want to be a rider, you need to be the first person that dragon sees.”

“I’ll be right there then,” Jimin says. He looks at Seokjin. “Why is this such a big deal? If I need a dragon, why do you want to wait?”

“There is more,” Jeongguk says. He glares at Yoongi.

Yoongi sighs. “I will ask a dragon for you,” he confirms. “But if she agrees, you have to carry the dragonstone into the fire.”

It takes Jimin a span of three heartbeats to understand what Yoongi is saying to him and another few before he realizes why Yoongi is covered in scars.

“You want me to walk through fire?” he screeches, jumping to his feet. “I’ll die!” Gem jumps up too, barking.

“No, you won’t,” Seokjin soothes. Taehyung grabs Gem’s muzzle, shushing her.

“Don’t say too much,” Byulyi cuts in. “Dragon magic is a fickle thing. He has to grow his belief on his own.”

“Beliefs take time!” Jimin protests. 

“We don’t have time!” Yoongi counters. “Sleep on it if you must, but unless you want to continue lugging around a giant green rock, that dragon has to hatch. And it won’t happen just because you ask nicely. Without it’s mother, that dragon has to be coached out, and if it doesn’t imprint on you, then you’ll just be tainted by dragon magic forever.”

“In danger,” Yongsun clarifies, “but unable to protect yourself.”

“Won’t I live a little longer than instead of walking through fire?” Jimin argues. Taehyung is smiling, and Hyejin wears the same sneaky expression. Jimin feels like the butt of a joke he wasn’t aware was told. 

“You came here to be a rider,” Yoongi says. “Walking through fire is nothing compared to that.” Jimin shakes his head, taking another step back. He doesn’t have anything to say. He doesn’t want to agree, but he can’t disagree either. He should have listened to his mother and returned the dragonstone to the forest before all of this started.

Jeongguk grips Jimin’s wrist. “Your dragon wants protect you,” he murmurs. “You trust… trust me.” Jimin purses his lips. Jeongguk is the only one of the group who has actually given him a reason to offer his trust. The last person to ask Jimin’s trust was his mother.

“Do you know King’s speech?” Jimin asks. Jeongguk jerks his head in a little nod, eyes wide. 

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. Jimin takes a breath and reaches into his pocket to pull out his mother’s letter. His fingers tremble as he opens it, careful not to let it rip. Taehyung steps aside, moving back to stand with Hyejin. Gem looks torn between going with him and staying beside Jimin.

“Can you read this?” Jimin asks for only Jeongguk to hear. He points at the angular writing at the bottom of his mother’s letter and holds it out to Jeongguk. The shapeshifter takes it carefully.

He points at each collection of symbols as he speaks the words out loud. “ _Sua-neir ke fahnba,_ ” he says. “It mean…” He tilts his head in thought. “‘Find your father’.”

“My father,” Jimin whispers. The image of Ferris before he was sick, dressed in hunter’s garb, a knife in one hand, shimmers in Jimin’s memory. That’s not the father his mother means. “The King.” His eyebrows furrow, and he closes his eyes. Seokjin has been looking for scalebonds in order to give them a chance at freeing the King’s City from the Circle’s control, and Jimin is a scalebond. Jimin’s mother wants him to find his father, and a dragon seems to be the only way he’ll ever get a chance.

More importantly, with a dragon, could he save his mother from the Circle?

“Okay,” he whispers to himself. Jeongguk hands the letter back to him, and Jimin folds it carefully, putting it back in his pocket. He looks up at everyone standing around and pulls the pack from his back. Jimin lets the sack fall to the ground, holding the dragonstone in his hands. It’s warm against his skin, a comfort he’s slowly coming to know.

“Okay,” Jimin announces. He’s looking directly at Yoongi, but he can feel excitement from everyone around him. “Tell me what to do.”

Yoongi moves to stand directly in front of Jimin, unbothered by the low whine Gem lets out at his proximity, and taps his fingers on the dragonstone. Jimin can see the discomfort of the scalding heat of the dragonstone against Yoongi’s fingers, but he supposes that’s just another scar among a plethora of burns.

“Come, little one,” Yoongi says, speaking to the dragonstone. “Let’s bring you into the world.” He turns, and Jimin hesitates. Seokjin’s hand on Jimin’s shoulder urges him forward, and he both follows and is led back to the stone clearing.

The dragons scream in greeting, their fluttering wings shifting the air. Yoongi walks into their midst without preamble, but Jimin waits with the others at the edge of the grass where the scorched blades fade to healthy green. Gem prances uncomfortably, her front claws clicking on the edges of the stone ground.

“Why are we waiting here?” Jimin asks.

“Safer,” Byulyi answers with a shrug. “But you need to follow him.” She nods in Yoongi’s direction. Jimin can barely make out his slight frame amidst the dragons. 

Byulyi musst sense his uncertainty, because she laughs. “Don’t worry so much,” she urges. “Yoongi won’t let anything happen to you. You’ll be fine.” Somehow, that worries Jimin even more. Yoongi is covered in burn scars; this group’s definition of ‘fine’ seems to be something completely different from Jimin’s.

“Go, go, go,” Hyejin urges, pushing lightly at Jimin’s back. “Meet your dragon.”

Jimin stumbles forward a few steps.

“Good luck!” Taehyung cheers after him. “I’ll watch Gem!” Jimin looks at his dog and then at the clearing, and Yoongi beckons him with an impatient hand. Jimin takes a breath that shakes when he exhales. 

“Mama,” he murmurs low to himself. “What have you gotten me into?” Nevermind that Jimin didn’t listen to her and got himself in this mess in the first place. Each step closer to Yoongi sends his heart beating faster, adrenaline racing through him, radiating from the dragonstone in his arms.

“You’re so slow,” Yoong admonishes, stepping out of the thick of the dragons to greet Jimin. He takes his arm and leads him in deeper, bare feet stepping over the broken stone without worry. He gently brushes his thumb over the surface of the dragonstone, and no pain shows on his face. Jimin wonders if the dragon inside knows him to practically be a dragon himself or if Yoongi’s pain tolerance is sky high.

Jimin thinks that Yoongi’s sanity is probably non existent. 

"Don't worry about the dragons," Yoongi laughs, cackling as Jimin just about jumps out of his skin when a large dragon about twenty times Jimin's size decides to bend his neck and sniff his hair. "They're all nice enough."

"Yoongi," Jimin says, eyeing the large dragon. "Maybe they're nice to you, but they don't know me."

"Oh, they know you," Yoongi assures in a dismissive tone. "You've got that mark on your arm. You reek of dragon. You're really confusing to them, mostly."

"Confusing?" A dragon’s nose touches Jimin’s ear; Jimin tries not screech.

"Well," Yoongi begins to explain, reaching what seems to be the epicenter of all the flattened rock in the clearing. "You don't look like them but you smell like them. You're like a scaleless baby in their eyes." He points at the gathering of cracks on the ground. “Set the dragonstone there.”

Jimin follows his direction, and the bright green casts off color patterns over the gray rocks. Jimin stares at the patterns with awe that is broken by a smaller dragon nosing at Jimin’s thigh, and he squawks, crowding in behind Yoongi for protection. "How do you know this?"

Yoongi gives him an annoyed glance, stepping away from Jimin. "I live with them. I take care of them. A parent always knows his children."

"You're insane," Jimin mutters darkly before he can stop himself.

Yoongi shows his teeth. "Yes." He points at the dragonstone now laying by itself in the clearing. "And this is where I will teach you that you are also insane."

Jimin crosses his arms. He is no such thing. "You can't teach insanity," he states.

"Oh, I'm not teaching it," Yoongi tells him. His grin gets wider. "I'm unlocking it." He turns around without waiting for a response from Jimin and jams two fingers in his mouth to whistle loudly. The very ground seems to tremble and move, and then Jimin is staring wide-eyed at a massive beast of a dragon stepping out from behind a small mountain. Jimin blinks, and then he realizes the gray dragon itself is the mountain.

"Oh, shit," Jimin says because that's all he can process right now. Yoongi just laughs, slapping Jimin's back.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" he says. "One of the oldest dragons in existence. But still a baby compared to what this world used to have." Jimin doesn't say it out loud, but he thinks it: the world definitely does not need anything larger than this _baby._

"Now, Prince Jimin," Yoongi asks, facing him with a gleeful expression, "are you ready to hatch your dragon?"

Jimin purses his lips. "What do I do? Stand here?

Yoongi groans. “Didn’t Jeongguk explain this to you?” He points at the large gray dragon. "Female dragon fire is some of the hottest flames in the word," he informs. "Dragon eggs only hatch under intense heat when the mother breathes fire on an egg to soften the shell."

"So I’ll just… stand here while that dragon breathes fire on me," Jimin says, incredulous. He regrets agreeing to hatch the dragon.

"Not _that_ ," Yoongi snaps. "She has a name. Luce. Show some respect." He gestures towards the towering gray dragon. Luce turns her huge head in Jimin’s direction, and her blazing eyes are terrifying enough.

Jimin ducks his head in a bow. “Nice to meet you,” he stutters. 

Yoongi throws back his head and cackles. “Dragons don’t speak human language,” he snorts. “Their own is too beautiful. Why learn what sounds like babies screeching to them?” He practically prances over to Luce and pats her ankle. He opens his mouth, and the sound that comes out is inhuman, somewhere between a song and a scream. It’s not beautiful, but then Jimin’s mark is burning and the dragonstone on the ground is glowing.

Yoongi cheers. “Take off your clothes, scalebond,” he orders Jimin. “She’s agreed to hatch your dragon for you.” 

“My clothes?” Jimin thinks of the cold. “Why?”

“Well, unless you want them turned to ashes...” Yoongi trails off. Jimin scowls. He likes these furs; he doesn’t want them to be burned. Getting naked in this weather, however, is just another evil.

Yoongi shrugs. “Your choice.” He makes that weird noise at Luce again, and she grumbles. Jimin watches in awe as her jaw opens, a bright blue fire glowing at the back of her throat. 

"Dragons are not strong enough to break out of their own shell by themselves," Yoongi tells him, "so we help them. Which means you'll have to walk through fire to get the egg and tear the stone open on your own." He smiles, finishing his explanation with a bow at the giant dragon.

It seems like a really sound plan, except for the part where he has to _walk through fire._

"Yoongi..." Jimin starts.

"Don't protest," Yoongi says, grabbing Jimin's wrist and holding it up so that Jimin's staring at the marking on his own wrist. "Are these real?"

"Yes," Jimin declares. Yoongi presses down a bit on his wrist, and Jimin wales, "Yes, Yes, Yes."

"These mean you've been chosen by a dragon," Yoongi says. "You're safe." Jimin really isn’t sure he believes him, but Yoongi whistles again, entirely unconcerned with Jimin’s reservations. Luce sucks in a deep breath that Jimin swears pulls in half of the available air up here in the mountains.

"Alright," Yoongi says. "When I say go, you go. Got it?"

"Wait," Jimin says weakly. Yoongi isn’t listening.

“Now strip,” Yoongi orders. “Or those nice furs of yours are going to be ruined.”

“Wait, Yoongi. I- I need a moment!”

“Strip,” Yoongi demands again, and Jimin swears and shivers all the way through practicing obedience. He leaves his underclothes on, and Yoongi rolls his eyes at him, cursing under his breath. “Are you ready?” he asks.

“No,” Jimin says, but Yoongi doesn’t seem particularly interested in his answer. 

"Luce!" Yoongi yells, and the dragon opens her maw and roars. The air shakes with it; Jimin's ears ring with it. Her roar bounces off the rocks and the sky, and the fire that flows from her open mouth is beautiful, a mix of color that conceals Jimin’s dragonstone from view. Jimin can feel the heat of the fire as if it were right next to him. 

_I’m going to die,_ he thinks.

"Okay, little prince," Yoongi orders over the roar of the flames. "Go become a rider."

Jimin shakes and looks behind him. There everyone is cheering for him, and it's with his mother’s comforting smile in mind that Jimin walks forward towards the stream of fire.

“Go, Jimin!” Yoongi screams at him, and Jimin can’t breathe, is quite sure his heart is going to pound its way up his throat and out of his mouth as he steps forward into the flames. It's loud, deafening, and the heat sears through him, aching against his skin. He's not burning though, even as his underclothes burn and tear from his body. He squints through the multicolor fire, locating the jade dragonstone and kneeling before it. The surface of the stone is superheated, almost soft beneath his touch. Along its surface, various cracks have begun to form, and Jimin reaches into them with his fingernails as if they were two sides of one of his hunting traps and pulls.

There's a splinter, a shatter, and the flames keep roaring. Jimin pulls again, and the stone splits in two, falling to his sides. In his hands, too-large eyes staring at him curiously, is nothing more than a large lizard with the brightest green scales.

"Hello," Jimin breathes, choking on flames. The flames stop, and the little dragon in his hands skitters up his arm to cling to his neck. A screeched high note shatters Jimin’s ears and pain lances through him. He sways, and the ground rushes up to meet him and his dragon.

**+=+**

It’s uncomfortably warm, the air thick and scented. Jimin gasps, trying to connect his body to his mind and to wake up. His eyes flutter, and he gasps, breathing in the heavy taste of burning incense.

Someone is singing. Jimin can hear it, but he doesn’t recognize the voice. Voices. Women. He imagines his mother in the kitchen back in their home, singing as she cooks. She has a pretty voice, but the voices singing now are haunting, the ghosts of whispers passing over Jimin’s skin. He doesn’t know any of the words, but language is a far more diverse thing than he had realized before coming here to the mountains outside of the boundary lines of the country he was raised in.

“You’re awake,” someone says in the common tongue, and Jimin squints, peering through mostly closed eyelids until the light is no longer blinding. “That didn’t take too long.”

“Hm,” another voice responds, and Jimin recognizes the speaker to be Byulyi. “Three days.”

Three days? Jimin tries to get his arms under himself to sit up, but his body screams in protest and he collapses back against the blankets he’s lying on.

“Slow,” the first speaker, Hyejin, eases, hurrying over to him. She loops an arm under his shoulders and helps him sit up. The going is slow, and Jimin can’t hold back a groan.

“What happened?” he manages, panting.

“You walked through fire, hatched your dragon, formed an imprint with her, and felt the first real rush of magic,” Hyejin says, still holding him upright. “Better to ask what _didn’t_ happen.”

“Here,” Byulyi says, holding out a cup. Steam floats off the top, and Hyejin takes it from her, lifting it to Jimin’s lips.

“Drink this,” she says. “It will help stabilize you.”

“What is it?” Jimin croaks.

“A lot of chamomile,” Byulyi answers.

“Tea,” Hyejin simplifies. Jimin gives them both a skeptical look that falters into a wince as his heart rate suddenly picks up. His skin feels oddly prickly. “Drink,” Hyejin presses. Jimin listens, allowing her to tip the cup against his lips. He swallows the tea, sweetened with honey, and Hyejin lowers him back down to his cot.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

“Sore,” Jimin answers. “Prickly.”

“Those are normal,” Byulyi assures him. She comes to sit beside him and brings one of his hands to her lap. She dips her fingers into a shallow bowl, and smears a thick, earthy paste on his wrist. She leans over him and does it to the other wrist as well.

“To keep the nausea away,” she explains, smearing it on either side of his neck before moving down to his ankles. It doesn’t have much of a smell, a bit like mud and a bit like grass, but nothing unpleasant. “Your dragon is powerful. Her magic is definitely going to take a toll on you until you learn to take control of your energy.”

Her magic. His dragon.

“Where is she?” Jimin asks. “My dragon.”

“With Yoongi,” Hyejin responds from the other side of the room. Jimin comes to realize slowly that it’s not a room at all but the inside of a cave. Herbs hang from the ceiling, and the more Jimin looks at them, he realizes they’re not hanging but, rather, suspended, levitating in the air. “He’s raised many a newborn dragon before. She’s in good hands.”

Jimin thinks of Yoongi’s scars and has no doubt that Hyejin is right.

“Can I see her?”

“You can’t even sit up,” Byulyi reminds him, leaving his side to shower the firepit in the cave with sparks from her fingertips. The flames flare blue and then die back to a merry yellow. “You’ll be here for another few days.”

“But,” Jimin looks around. “My dragon?”

“You can see her when it won’t kill you,” Hyejin tells him. “You’re full of magic now, and so is your dragon. Without knowing how to control it, it will kill you both.”

“But it’s…” Jimin tries to sit up again, but his body doesn't let him. He growls in frustration. “It’s my magic in my body.”

Byulyi whirls on him, her hair lifting and floating around her. Jimin can feel the way the air compresses and lifts, making it hard to breathe. Her power is tangible, and Jimin’s heart races with it. He can feel it as if it were something he holds in it own hands, and now, he figures, he does.

“You don’t own magic, rider,” Byulyi states, tone dark. “You are lucky to _use_ it. It’s not your magic; it’s your dragon’s magic that she allows you to use. As my sister said, if you don’t learn to use it, it will kill you both.” 

Jimin pushes against the cot, his skin crawling with the feeling of the mage’s power. It’s not malicious like the Circle mage’s had been, but it’s still terrifying. He wants to sit. At least if he’s upright, he won’t feel like he’s completely at the mercy of the two mages.

“Where’s Gem?” he asks instead. “She must… I have to go see-” Pain wracks through him, and his sentence falters.

“You’re still healing,” Hyejin says, rushing over with a bunch of something that looks vaguely like marigolds in her hand. “Stay down. Taehyung has Gem. He loves that dog. She’s safe.” Her hand is gentle on Jimin’s shoulder, but the shape of the flower is something he’s never seen before. He flinches back, and his body protests even that.

“What is…?” He points with one finger, not lifting his arm. Such a small movement doesn't hurt, but his shoulder still aches.

“In oil form it will help with the soreness,” Hyejin answers. “Once your body is calmed enough, we will teach you to control the energy in your body. Until you do that, you won’t even be able to walk.” She brushes his hair back from his forehead. “You should really try to rest.”

“I’ve been sleeping for three days,” Jimin protests. Hyejin shrugs. 

“And you still can’t get out of bed,” she argues. “So rest.”

Jimin grumbles, but despite how much he wants to move, his body is in too much pain to allow it. He stares up the ceiling of the cave, watching the herbs shift around as Hyejin begins to sing again. The scent of peppermint fills the air alongside the lavender and the earthy tone of the paste still on Jimin’s skin.

The blankets covering him are adjusted, and Jimin turns his head, watching Byulyi sit next to him again. Her fingers are cool and soothing against the back of his hand, and he watches her dig her thumb into his palm. The tension in his fingers eases.

“Is that magic?” he asks.

Byulyi shakes her head, wearing a small smirk. “Just a massage,” she corrects him. “To help you relax.” She presses her fingers into the clefts between his fingers, and some of the ache in Jimin’s temples eases. “Magic is not like your own energy,” she murmurs as she works, moving up Jimin’s forearm. “Too much of a good thing is a bad thing. Have you heard that?”

“My mother used to tell me that,” Jimin says. Byulyi reaches over to grab his other hand.

“When a rider and a dragon bond, the protective magic on the dragonstone marks the rider, claiming him,” Byulyi tells him. Her voice is soothing and low, and Jimin concentrates on it and the feeling of her hands drawing the tension from his muscles. He feels cared for no matter how intimidating her magical prowess is. “This is the beginning of a bond between rider and dragon. The stone acts as a barrier keeping the bond from forming completely.”

“And now?” Jimin asks, head rolling back. He watches the ceiling again. His eyelids are feeling heavier. 

“And now that protective barrier is gone,” Byulyi says, “and there is nothing stopping your dragon and you from trading magic back and forth. The constant ebb and flow between you two makes the magic grow. It makes you both more powerful.”

She releases his arms and leans over him, her eyes focused on his, drawing the last of his waking attention. “Once you learn to control the flow of your dragon’s magic in your body, then you can see her. I promise.”

“I just want to see her,” Jimin protests, his words slurring. He’s relaxed now, his skin no longer prickling even if the soreness persists. If nothing else, they could have brought Gem here to sit with him.

“Sleep well,” Byulyi says, ignoring Jimin’s request. Jimin remembers the bright green scales of the tiny creature he’d held in his arms for less than the span of a breath, and sleep claims him.

+=+

“Wake up, rider,” pulls Jimin from the haze of dreams. Slowly, the orange fire that had embraced him clears from his vision to be replaced with the reality of the mages’ cave. Taehyung leans over him. “Come on. Wake up.”

Jimin groans and breathes in, taking a real, full breath. His body responds not quite painlessly, but he’s able to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the cot.

“How long have-?” Jimin cuts himself off with a coughing fit, his voice scratching in his throat from lack of use.

“I think it’s been five days since you hatched your dragon,” Taehyung answers. “Byulyi and Hyejin left me to watch you. They’re exhausted from drawing as much magic from you as they could. They couldn’t let a scalebond die, you know?” He pats Jimin’s knee.

“Are you hungry? Mage brews aren’t really meals.” He smiles like Jimin has any idea what mage brews are. Jimin doesn’t even manage to get a word in in question before Taehyung yanks him up from the cot, shoving Jimin’s furs into his hands.

“Is Gem with you?” Jimin asks, sorting through the clothing for a shirt first.

“She’s with the others waiting for us,” Taehyung says. “Mostly for you. That dog loves you so much.” Jimin smiles at that. He doesn’t even remember life before Ferris got him the pup. “Put those on,” Taehyung orders. “You have to eat before you can start trying to use magic.”

“What?” Jimin asks, struggling to put his furs on and block his boots Taehyung throws at him. Taehyung is already striding out of the cave, and Jimin doesn’t manage to get his boots laced, stumbling after him. “Magic?”

“Didn’t Hyejin explain it to you?” Taehyung questions, gripping Jimin’s elbow and guiding him down the side of the mountain. “You’ve got dragon magic in you. You’re pretty much going to die if you don’t learn how to use it.” His accent makes it sound like he’s singing about Jimin dying, and that’s unnerving in a way that makes Jimin unsure if he wants to eat.

“Byulyi said it will make me and my dragon strong,” Jimin says. He pouts. “She said I can’t see her.”

Taehyung snorts. “That, rider, is the truth. We want you alive, and so does your dragon. So you’ll have to just let Yoongi take care of her.” He throws Jimin a huge grin. “But if you have questions about her, you should ask Yoongi! He’s been watching her day and night since you fainted.”

Jimin scowls. It’s not like he meant to faint or knew he was going to. Despite the explanation from Jeongguk as translated by Taehyung, Jimin really had no idea what he was agreeing to. Even now, he still has no idea what he’s really become as a rider. 

“They’re right over here,” Taehyung directs, grabbing Jimin’s wrist and dragging him through the tree line until he can hear the chatter of voices and smell meat roasting on a fire. “I brought him!”

A bark and a brown flash comes bounding over, and Jimin braces to be knocked to the ground by his dog. Gem stops just short of him, rearing up on her hind paws to lick his face.

“Down, girl,” Jimin laughs. “Hi, Gemmie. I missed you too.” She barks, tail wagging.

“Finally,” Yoongi says by way of greeting. “Did you have a nice sleep, prince?” It really sounds like an insult when he says that.

“It was unplanned,” Jimin tells him with narrowed eyes. Yoongi looks bemused, shrugging his shoulders and holding up a plate piled high with meat and woodland berries. Jimin’s stomach growls.

“Come eat,” Seokjin says from Yoongi’s side. He points around Yoongi to the plate of food in Yoongi’s hand. “That’s yours.”

“Go on, then,” Taehyung urges, leaving Jimin’s side and heading towards Hyejin and Wheein. Jimin falters without him, but then he catches Jeongguk offering him a tiny wave, and Jimin moves forward to take a seat next to Yoongi around the firepit. Gem circles around to sit in front of him, tongue rolling out the side of her mouth.

“Thank you,” he intones, taking the plate out of Yoongi’s hands. He stand awkwardly holding the plate for a moment before Yoongi grabs the waistband of Jimin’s pants and yanks him down to sit next to him. 

“Eat, rider,” Yoongi orders. “Tell me if the venison here tastes the same as it does in the south.”

Jimin eyes him, picking up a smaller piece of the game. The meat is just a tad tougher, but it’s just as flavorful as the game Jimin has learned to hunt and trap all of his life. He swallows and sucks a blackberry into his mouth. It’s sweet, the flavor bursting across his tongue. He hadn’t really thought about how hungry he is until this moment, and he can’t get enough food in his mouth.

Gem whines, and Jimin tosses her a chunk of meat. It’s gone in the blink of an eye.

“You’ll choke if you keep eating like that,” Hyejin speaks up, flicking her fingers at the fire. The spit rotates on it own, carried by her magic. “Chew. Swallow.” She snaps her fingers and a jug of water tips over into a small carved bowl. The bowl floats over to Jimin. He takes it, jaw dropped open.

“And for Ever’s sake, close your mouth,” Wheein mutters, nose wrinkled in disgust. 

Taehyung bursts out laughing with Jeongguk, clinging onto each other as they laugh. Wheein bares her teeth at them, and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at her. 

It’s warm, watching them. Beyond Jeongguk and Seokjin, Jimin doesn’t think any of them are related, but this is obviously a family. These people love each other more than anything. He watches Taehyung sit up and throw an arm around Hyejin, watching her fingers curl in the fabric of his jacket. Jimin remembers laughing with his mother, celebrating nothing but the happiness of being together. 

He glances down at his plate, picking at what’s left there. Someone sits next to him, a callused hand touching Jimin’s wrist to draw his attention. Jimin glances over at Jeongguk and nearly misses him snagging a raspberry off Jimin’s platter.

“Hey!” Jimin protests. Jeongguk grins, his lips stained pink with the juice. 

“ _Aglo_ ,” Jeongguk returns. He licks the rest of the raspberry juice off his finger. “It is ‘hello’ in King’s speech.” He snags another raspberry from Jimin’s plate.

“You have best ones,” Jeongguk tells him. “Mine… so sour.” He pulls a face, and Jimin laughs, popping the last raspberry in his own mouth before Jeongguk can take it. Gem leans in, sniffing for scraps. Jimin bops her nose.

“It’s all delicious,” he says.

“ _Menam-i,_ ” Jeongguk responds. “It’s delicious.”

“ _Menam-i,_ ” Jimin echoes. He picks up a blackberry. “And what’s this?”

“ _Oichu_ ,” Jeongguk says. The word curls in on itself, and Jimin stumbles on the first attempt to repeat it.

“O-ee-chuh,” he tries. Jeongguk laughs at him, but it’s not cruel. 

“ _Oichu_ ,” he says again, slower this time. “O-i-chu.” Jimin watches carefully how his mouth moves, watching his tongue shape the word. “You try,” Jeongguk encourages.

“ _Oichu_ ,” Jimin sounds out, and Jeongguk grins hugely at him.

“Good!” he says. “Other one. The red. It is _oechu._ ”

Jimin looks at the purple stains on his fingers from the blackberries next to the red from the raspberries. “Say that again,” he requests.

“ _Oechu_ ,” Jeongguk obliges.

“It sounds exactly the same!” Jimin groans. Gem whines again, trying to lick the grease and juice left over on Jimin’s platter.

Jeongguk shakes his head. “No. Listen. _O_ i _chu_ is black. _O_ e _chu_. Different.”

Jimin scowls. “It’s the same.”

On the other side of him, Yoongi snorts. Jimin scowls harder. 

Jeongguk sighs and taps Jimin’s wrist again. “Look. I show you.” He gestures to himself. “ _Ne kol ehmua Jeongguk._ ” He points at Jimin. “ _Ke kol ehmua Jimin._ ” He pats Gem’s head. Her tail wags. “ _Se kol ehmua Gem._ ”

“So…” Jimin starts, thinking hard. “ _Kol_ is… name?”

Jeongguk nods. “ _Ehm,_ ” he answers. “It is ‘yes.’” 

“What’s ‘no’?”

“ _Ahn_ ,” Jeongguk answers. He points at Jimin. “ _Ke kol ahnua Jeongguk_.”

“Because… _Ke kol ehmua Jimin_?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “Not _Ke._ ” He points at himself. “ _Ne._ My.” At Jimin. “ _Ke._ Your.” At Gem. “ _Se._ Her.” He gestures to himself again. “ _Ne kol ehmua Jeongguk, ahn Jimin._ ”

Jimin bites his bottom lip, trying to straighten the words in his head. “ _Ehmua_ is… is?”

“ _Ehm,_ ” Jeongguk confirms.

“ _Ne kol ehmua Jimin,_ ” Jimin states.

“ _Itreah Jimin,_ ” Jeongguk adds. He leans over to Yoongi and speaks in King’s speech so quickly that Jimin misses everything but his own name. Yoongi responds just as quickly, and Jimin small progress to introduce himself seems useless.

“Prince,” Yoongi says when Jeongguk sits back up. “ _Itreah_ is prince. King is _reah._ ”

“What about princess?”

Yoongi scoffs. “Do you think gender is that important?” He shakes his head. “ _Itreah_. Prince. Princess. It doesn’t matter.”

“It-ray-uh,” Jimin tries.

“Not ‘uh’,” Yoongi corrects. “‘Ah.’ _Itreah._ Lift your tongue up.” Jimin clears his throat, opening his mouth. “Everything in the King’s speech is clear and haughty,” Yoongi continues _Itreah Jimin, imua-reh longeh._ ” He exaggerates his mouth, and Jimin catches himself copying his movements.

“Try it aloud,” Yoongi says. “Prince Jimin, may he live forever. _Itreah Jimin. Imua-reh longeh_.” 

Jimin mouths to himself one more time before he tries to verbalize it. “ _Imua_ -ray _lon-_ gay,” he says. 

“Close,” Yoongi says. “Not so harsh. But close.”

“ _Imua-reh longeh_ ,” Jimin echoes. Yoongi’s nods in approval, and Gem lays her head on Jimin’s hand. He coos, leaning over to kiss her head and scratch her ears. “But don’t scalebonds live for a long time anyway?” he asks, distracted.

“It’s possible,” Seokjin answers. “Magic is an undying thing. If you carry it in your body, it keeps you alive longer. Same with us shapeshifters and mages.” Jimin keeps petting Gem, stroking his fingers over the white fur on her muzzle.

“So I could… give Gem some magic and she’d live longer too?” he asks. He flicks Gem’s nose, and she snorts, licking his knuckles in revenge.

“Magic is selective,” Hyejin explains. “You can’t just give it to someone. Magic has to choose them, and usually Ever doesn’t allow magic to be abused. That’s why it’s so terrifying that the Circle managed to take power, and that’s why it’s so amazing to us all that a dragon chose you, a prince.”

There it is again. Ever. “Who-?”

“She’s a pretty thing,” Yoongi says, and Jimin’s attention is captured.

“My dragon?” he asks, just managing to restrain himself from jumping up from his seat. “Is she healthy? Is she eating? Can I see her?”

Yoongi leans back from Jimin’s exuberance. “She’s fine,” he promises. “Everything is normal, but you absolutely can’t see her.”

“I already told you that,” Byulyi interjects. She sounds annoyed.

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“No,” Yoongi state. “She will try to protect herself from you until you learn to control your magic. And until then, she will see you as a threat to her. She’s a baby, Jimin. She doesn’t know her own strength.”

“If she’s a baby, I’ll be fine,” Jimin tries.

“Okay, let me put it this way,” Yoongi states, leveling a hard stare at Jimin. “If you see her, she _will_ try to kill you.”

“But we imprinted!” Jimin whines. Gem whines too. “That’s why you made me walk through the fire in the first place!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yoongi snaps. “As you are, you’re a threat to yourself.”

“Hoseok could explain this so much better,” Taehyung grumbles from next to Hyejin. Seokjin jerks up, looking at Wheein.

“Where is Hoseok?”

Wheein shrugs. “He said he didn’t want to come,” she says. “I can’t force him to do anything, so I just said I’d bring him his portion later.”

Yongsun rolls her eyes. “You probably don’t have to do that. Goerir probably already caught him something.”

“Georir?” Jimin whispers. He looks over at Seokjin, hoping for answers.

“Have you had enough to eat?” Seokjin asks instead, and Jimin deflates. Ever, Hoseok, and now Georir - when will he get a chance to meet them? To at least know who they are?

“Uh, yeah. I mean… _ehm,_ ” Jimin answers. Seokjin’s eyes curve with his smile. 

“Good,” he says. “Taehyung, take Gem and go running or something. Wouldn’t want her getting in the way of Jimin’s first lessons with the mages.” Taehyung pulls a face like he’s terrified and then laughs it off. Jimin’s hands shake; they’re all making plans about him without him understanding again.

“Come here, Gemma girl,” Taehyung calls, and Gem bounds over, fur slipping between Jimin’s fingers as she goes. _Traitor._ Taehyung throws his jacket and shirt at Hyejin, and she rolls her eyes. In the next moment, Gem is running beside a wolf off into the trees.

“Wait for me, you brat!” Wheein shouts after them. Another flash of skin, and then a hawk screams after them into the trees.

“Come with me, lover,” Yoongi murmurs, taking Seokjin’s hand. “Why don’t you go after them, Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk jolts up with his eyes wide. “I… what? You say what?”

Yoongi scowls. “Okay, Jimin is going to learn King’s speech, and you’re going to learn common. _Lenua-neir et Taehyung to Wheein, ehm?_ ” 

Jeongguk’s eyes go wide and then he narrows them at Yoongi. He mutters under his breath in his own language before he turns and pulls his shirt off, running after them.

“Where is everyone going?” Jimin asks, trying to grab for Seokjin.

“You’re with us, rider,” Byulyi says from behind him, and he turns to see Hyejin and Byulyi standing with crossed arms and matching smirks. “You want to see your dragon, don’t you?” Jimin can only nod.

Hyejin snorts. “We’re going to teach you some magic, bumpkin. Then you can see your dragon.”

Excitement and trepidation go to war in Jimin’s mind. He wants to see his dragon, yes, but he saw what the Circle mage could do with magic. He’s sure that’s not even a fraction of its brutality. 

“Dragon magic is different from our magic,” Byulyi starts, walking forward slowly. Jimin’s face must clearly show his uncertainty. “They don’t start in the same place, but from what I can tell, the flow of it in your body is the same as in mine.”

She inhales and spreads her fingers in front of her. Green light shatters the still air, and her hair lifts around her shoulders. “This is your magic,” she says. “I’ve been gathering it to give your body a chance to heal.” Hyejin moves to stand beside her, spreading her fingers at well. The same green light flashes off her hands, and she gives Jimin an encouraging smile.

“Breathe evenly,” she advises. “In for three heartbeats, out for three heartbeats. You don’t even mean to be doing it, but this will even your energy.” Jimin breathes, trying to keep each breath even. 

“I know you don’t really trust us yes,” Byulyi says. “But we won’t do anything to hurt you.”

“That would be treason anyway,” Hyejin deadpans. Byulyi rolls her eyes. 

“Hold out your hands,” Byulyi requests, “and keep breathing.” Jimin hesitates, watching the green on their hands.

“This is your magic,” Hyejin reminds him. “We won’t let it hurt you.”

Jimin’s fingers tremble, but he reaches out anyway, forcing his breath steady. Byulyi turns his hands palms up and lays her hands on top of his. For a moment, it seems like nothing is happening, the green in her hands drifting lazy around them, and then Jimin inhales.

The world lights up around him, colors more dazzling, the edges sharper, cleaner. Byulyi’s eyes aren’t just brown, but a plethora of shades that reflect the light around them. Hyejin’s hair is toned with blue and purple, and Jimin wonders if the world has always been this brilliant.

“This is dragon magic,” Byulyi states. “You see with your dragon’s eyes when you tap into her power. Is it beautiful?”

“Yes,” Jimin gasps, looking around, watching the way the sunlight dances on the wildflowers and shatters across the leaves. 

“You can see her now then,” Hyejin marvels. “Ever.”

“Who?” Jimin asks, looking around for a ‘her.’ He only sees the two mages in front of him.

“Life,” Byulyi translates. “You’re looking at the energy that makes everything live. We learned about it from the dragons eons ago, but I think Yoongi is the only non rider to speak dragon song. The riders made up a word for the rest of us to use. They called it Ever, and the mages and shapeshifters have since revered her as a god.”

Right now, seeing the world through dragon eyes, Jimin could easily worship Ever too. 

“What is it like?” Hyejin asks.

“Shh,” Byulyi hisses. “Don’t break his breathing too much.”

“You can’t see this?” Jimin asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “But you use magic?”

“Magic isn’t singular,” Byulyi explains, eyes on their hands. “There is mage magic, shapeshifting magic, and dragon magic. At least, that we know of. Now, keep breathing.”

Jimin is still trying to process what she’s telling him, trying to soak in as much of this view as he can, when Byulyi retracts her hands. The magic spins in Jimin’s hold. He’s not sure how he’s doing this, not really sure what he can do with it, but here is, holding magic in his own hands.

“What do I do next?” Jimin asks. He breaks his even breathing to speak, and the magic flickers. It pinches his skin, and that same surge of pain that had held him prone on the cot in the mages’ cave threatens in his gut. 

“We can’t give you any specific spells or… well, I don’t know if spells is the right word, but dragon magic reacts to feeling and breathing and dragon song.” Hyejin shrugs. The green on her hands bounces, and she holds out her hands. “Call this to you. It’s yours.”

“How?”

“Breathe, and think of the dragon song,” Hyejin answers. It’s a straightforward answer; the only problem is Jimin has no idea what she means by dragon song.

“Like… the dragon language?” he asks.

Hyejin nods. “Yes. You’re a rider. You should know it.”

It sounds so simple, but when Jimin thinks, there’s no second language he doesn’t know he knows hiding in his mind. Everything is common tongue. He shakes his head. “I don’t know it.”

Byulyi frowns. “The dragon did see you first?”

“Yes,” Jimin states, certain of that much. “No one else was close enough.”

“Then you should know dragon song,” Hyeran reiterates, but she’s looking at Byulyi for confirmation. Byulyi looks just as lost.

“Is something wrong with me?” Jimin asks. Fear is a strength thing. It sits within him like an old friend but tears at his mind like a disease. His body aches. “Am I...like… maybe I am not the one meant to be a rider. Or-”

“Breathe,” Hyejin interrupts, panicked. Jimin’s magic spreads, twisting violently, agitated, searing anything it touches. The ground at his feet is scorched, and Jimin stares. On his hands, orange flames twist within the green light, spilling over his finger tips. Hyejin magics captures the spread of the fire, but there’s no mistaking its source: Jimin himself.

“What-?” Jimin can’t look away from the flames falling from his hands. He slows his breathing, watching the fire darken to red before it fades into green smoke. Byulyi is talking in a low, whispering language, Hyejin nodding along as she speaks. It’s full of starts and stops, not nearly as smooth as the tonal language of the shapeshifters or the haughty sounds of King’s speech. 

The power fades, but it doesn’t die. Jimin can still feel it, sinking under his skin and spreading through him. It’s like a fever, uncomfortable and nauseating. Jimin’s knees buckle, and the ground welcomes him.

Hyejin nods. “ _Ehm,_ ” she murmurs. She gives Jimin a look that he thinks is pitying. He pants. The only thing that had worked for him to keep this uncomfortable feeling at bay was breathing, but it’s hard to do that when he feels like he may puke at any given moment.

“I need…” he manages, “I need...to...lay down.” He keels over, holding himself up on all fours. His arms tremble, and this must be what it’s like to be awake with his body reacting badly to magic. He misses the comatose state the mages had kept him in. He regrets waking up.

“No, no, no,” Hyejin murmurs, rushing to kneel beside him. She tries to reach out to touch him, but she jerks back, hissing. Her skin is red, burned. Jimin’s vision is fading, the bright colors of the world blurring in on each other.

“S-sorr…”

“Breathe,” Byulyi stops him. She kneels in front of him. 

“ _Maua-pam nou su Hoseok_?” Hyejin asks, and it feels like she's messing with him, speaking in King’s speech now. Jimin can’t understand it. Blood is rushing in his ears; he can barely hear it.

“ _Ahn,_ ” Byulyi responds. “ _Sou korumua-ah…_ ” Jimin loses track of the words, only understanding Hoseok and ‘no.’

“Breathe,” Byulyi commands, and following her directions is all Jimin can do. “That’s it, _itreah. Renonua-neir._ Breathe.” Jimin chokes in a breath, forcing himself to cooperate. Black spots dance in his vision. 

“Go on, Hyejin,” Byulyi says, voice still low and calm, accent from her mother tongue seeping into her words. “You can go. Isn’t Taehyung waiting?”

“Yes,” Hyejin responds, but she’s hesitant, hands hovering. The air shimmers over Jimin’s skin, heat coming off of him. Dragon magic is a terrible, destructive force trapped inside him. 

“You can go,” Byulyi promises. She’s never looks away from Jimin, but her hand settles on Hyejin’s shoulder. “Go on.” Hyejin gets to her feet slowly. It’s not until Byulyi tells her again that she can go that she does.

Jimin squints after her, trying to reclaim his focus. It’s not working.

“Hyejin was telling me earlier that Taehyung wanted to go out to the falls with her today,” Byulyi says, just talking. Jimin latches on her words, listening. Breathing. It helps. “It may not seem like it, but they’re together. Have been for maybe four years now.”

Her voice is so soothing. Hyejin and Taehyung is a strange concept, but it’s something else to focus on. The pain recedes slowly. 

“I’m not sure what she sees in him,” Byulyi continues with a scoff. “That’s it, Jimin. Sit up, like that, yeah.” Jimin struggles, easing himself up into a sitting position. He leans his head back, eyes squeezed shut, gritting his teeth as he breathes hard through his nose.

“In your mind,” Byulyi whispers, voice so close even if Jimin can’t feel her presence over the power pushing against his skin, “imagine the fire, imagine your dragon. And breathe. Never forget to breathe.”

The memories are vivid. Jimin can see Luce’s fire, can feel the heat of it as if he were standing in the middle of it again. He remembers digging his hands into the dragonstone, remembers the little green dragon that had emerged from it. He remembers her bright jade eyes and the wicked curve of her teeth. 

He breathes.

“Focus,” Byulyi continues. “Dragon magic comes from your dragon. You are at the mercy of your dragon’s power. You can’t control how much of it she releases, but you can control how much you take into yourself.”

“Okay,” Jimin murmurs. He straightens his back and attempts to open his eyes. The bright colors are still there, but the black spots are gone. 

“You are the only one in charge of your own body, Jimin,” Byulyi tells him. “Choose to be in control of the magic within you.” 

She keeps talking to him, and Jimin closes his eyes again, listening. This is meditation, Byulyi explains, helping him to ease his body and mind. The pain disappears, only a faint discomfort remaining that he complains about to the mage.

“I don’t know how to get rid of that,” Byulyi says, apologetic. “But maybe it’s your dragon. I...am not a rider. I don’t know enough about your connection with her or how it works.”

Jimin tries to think about things related to dragons. The sky, the clouds, the fire. He breathes, rotating through each mental image. The discomfort in his gut morphs into fear, and darkness comes screaming up at him. 

“No!” is screamed into the quiet of the forest, and belatedly, Jimin realizes it’s his voice echoing around him. His eyes snap open, and he stares at Byulyi, her face twisted in concern.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Jimin can’t move. “Jimin?”

“I…” He doesn’t have an answer. Physically, right now, he’s fine. But whatever he just saw… was that his dragon’s thoughts? Another power? He thinks of the Circle and their dark magic. “I don’t know.”

Byulyi doesn’t press. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Jimin answers honestly. He only just woke up to eat and attempt to practice magic, but already he’s ready to collapse.

“Magic is like that,” Byulyi laughs amicably. “Exhausting if you don’t know what you’re doing.” Jimin frowns. He definitely does not know what he’s doing. “Come on,” Byulyi urges, holding out a hand. When their skin touches, she doesn’t flinch back. The world isn’t quite as bright as it was when Jimin has let the dragon magic run rampant in him. For a moment, he feels normal. “I’ll help you back.”

Byulyi hauls Jimin to his feet, and she promises him more chamomile tea when they get back to the cave she shares with Hyejin. Even when Jimin is settled on the cot, Byulyi heading out to find Gem to stay with him, he can’t stop thinking about the black fear that had curled itself around him and torn him away from his concentration.

He breathes. It’s the only thing he can do.

+=+

“It seems you’re not an entirely hopeless case,” Hyejin says with a smirk and an approving nod. “Only a week into this, and you’re getting somewhere.”

Jimin grins. Encouragement, praise - it all feels good when he’s terrified that at any second the fire in his hands is going to take the entire forest down. Byulyi has assured him many times that she and Hyejin would never allow his fire to spread that far, but Jimin remembers the absolute panic of the black fear. Despite the control the mages have over a tangible magic like fire, that image, wherever it came from, won’t leave him.

“I’m a rider,” he says, far more confident than he feels. One week into studying magic, and the only thing he’s really managed to accomplish is twirling fire around his fingers, but he can control the pain in his body. The mages haven’t asked him again about dragon song, but he can sense the question every time he urges the fire to bend to his will.

The green within the flames is the only evidence that he’s still connected to his dragon who he still hasn’t seen. Yoongi avoids the topic, and everyone else follows suit. Jeongguk, at least, is up front about it, even if he struggles to find the words. 

“Fire...wild,” he had said just this morning. “Dragon will feel you use power. Has to protect her… protect dragon first.” But that was hours ago, and the sun is slowly disappearing now. It makes Jimin’s fire brighter, a force against the darkness. He imagines tearing through the memory of fear until there is nothing left.

Jimin spins on his heel and tosses the fire up high over his head. It soars, an attack, dangerous, and then he draws it back to himself, catching it, condensing it between his hands until it snuffs out. If he isn’t suffering from pain and can throw his dragon’s fire around as if it were an extension of himself, he doesn’t really understand why he’s still banned from seeing his dragon.

“Look up!” Byulyi orders, and then a blast of ice careens towards Jimin. He sucks in a breath, hands coming up as he braces himself in a defensive stance. The fire follows suit, crashing against the ice. A harmless spray of warm water lands at Jimin’s feet. 

“Good,” Hyejin states, tossing an arm around Jimin’s shoulders. He curbs his fire, blinking away the blackness that sits in his memory. “You’ll become a fine rider yet.” She wrinkles her nose. “You need a bath.” 

Jimin snorts out a laugh. “I haven’t exactly been offered a bath since I came here,” he reminds. 

Byulyi shrugs. “The water is cold in winter. We didn’t think your sensitive southern skin could handle it.”

Jimin copies her shrug. “I know how to use fire now,” he reminds. “I’ll just heat it.”

Hyejin laughs, pushing away from him. “Go then. I don’t want to see you until you don’t smell like sweat and mud. Wash your clothes too.”

“ _Ehm_ ,” Jimin agrees, shaking out his hands. He breathes evenly a few times to calm the magic within him. Byulyi points off into the woods.

“That way,” she says. “There’s a gentler part of a river there.”

Jimin follows her direction, walking off that way. The sun is sinking, and he can barely see where he’s walking. He holds a small curl of flame in his fingers, watches the green spin around and around. A muted roar and a screech distract him, and he nearly trips, catching himself on a low-hanging branch. 

He’s near the stone clearing. He hadn’t even realized. 

A small scream, tinged with a haunting note, follows the shrieks of the other dragons. It’s a sound that Jimin knows. He’s only heard it once before when his dragon was first hatched, but one week is not enough time to erase the specific cadence of his dragon’s voice. 

The fire in his hand surges, and excitement bubbles in his chest. Is she calling for him? Is his dragon finally calling for him?

Before Jimin can think through how many warnings Yoongi, the mages, and the shapeshifters have given him against seeing his dragon, his feet are already carrying him in that direction. The trees thin, and Jimin slows, walking as quietly as he can through the fallen leaves.

He peers out into the stone clearing, looking for Yoongi. He doesn’t see him, but he still creeps forward cautiously. There’s nothing scarier than the idea of Yoongi catching him. Jimin’s heart rate picks up at the imagined threat, and he focuses on breathing evenly. 

He opens his body to his dragon’s magic, and his vision sharpens and brightens as if it were only the beginning and not the very end of dusk. The sky is dark, but Jimin can see the cracks in the rocks and the small weeds that grow through them.

He wants to call for his dragon, but he doesn’t know her. Yoongi told him she will reveal her name when she’s ready, and that hasn’t happened yet. He doesn’t think the dragon would approve of being whistled for like his dog. 

He hums softly instead, walking into the midst of the dragons. They sniff at him, and Jimin does his best to ignore the heat of their breathing against his neck and face. He’s looking for a tiny green dragon.

A huge gray dragon turns her head to look at him, and Jimin recognizes this dragon. The last time he saw her, he was nearly naked and bracing himself to walk into her fire.

“Hello, Luce,” he greets, whispering. He bows his head. Luce growls low, opening her mouth. White blame swirls in the back of her throat. Jimin steps back.

“I don’t have another stone,” he promises. “I’m just looking for someone.”

Luce growls again, but she turns her head away from him. Belatedly, Jimin remembers that she sees common tongue as an insignificant language.

“Good job there, kid,” Jimin says to himself, but he imagines it in Yoongi’s voice. He keeps walking into the throws of dragons, many of them puffing smoke from their noses in their sleep.

He thinks of his dragon, of her tiny form in his hands. Maybe she will feel him reaching for her, maybe she will come.

The discomfort that Jimin has grown accustomed to feeling in his stomach stretches up into his chest, and he gasps, stumbling forward onto one knee. He grips his chest, looking around through his dragon’s eyes for her.

A terrible growl sounds above him, and Luce is there. Her blazing eyes could be furious or concerned. Jimin doesn’t know. The pain is spreading up into his head, and his magic pricks at his skin. 

He should go. This was a terrible idea. He should just go now and take a bath and pretend he never-

A little green dragon slips out from a group of sleeping dragons, her bright eyes unmistakable.

Jimin freezes. This is his dragon. This is the one he’s bonded with, the one whose powers he wields. 

“It’s you,” he croaks. His legs feel weak, and he sits down hard on the ground. He can’t tear his gaze away from his dragon as she stalks towards him. “It’s really you.”

His dragon lets out a shriek, and Jimin feels it in his body. It rips through him and shoves a shriek out of his own throat. Pain, terrible, hot and torturous, grabs him, digging its claws into his neck.

His power spins and spins, and his vision is going black. He shakes, yet still he reaches for his dragon. She skitters back from him, shrieking.

“Wait,” he tries to call to her. “Wait, I-!” He nearly bites his tongue off, tasting blood as a spasm wracks through him. He groans. 

His dragon moves forward again, her bright green eyes unblinking. The heat radiating between them is searing, and the power coming off of her hurts. Jimin can see nothing but the green of her eyes, and her shrieks are fading even if he can feel the pressure of them.

 _She will try to kill you,_ Yoongi had said. And Jimin hadn’t listened. 

His dragon shrieks again, and then she leaps. In one, brief, terrifying moment, Jimin realizes he’s going to die.

Teeth sink into his neck, little dragon claws digging through his skin and tapping on his bone. 

_Help,_ Jimin begs, but his mouth isn’t working. _Stop._ The world collapses in on him, and Jimin slips away in a puddle of his own blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: A comment a day keeps the writer's block away. 
> 
> Hit me up on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/daestruct) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/daestruct)!


	4. the man in the sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Previously, on dragonstone:_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> His dragon moves forward again, her bright green eyes unblinking. The heat radiating between them is searing, and the power coming off of her hurts. Jimin can see nothing but the green of her eyes, and her shrieks are fading even if he can feel the pressure of them.
> 
>  _She will try to kill you,_ Yoongi had said. And Jimin hadn’t listened. 
> 
> His dragon shrieks again, and then she leaps. In one, brief, terrifying moment, Jimin realizes he’s going to die.
> 
> Teeth sink into his neck, little dragon claws digging through his skin and tapping on his bone. 
> 
> _Help,_ Jimin begs, but his mouth isn’t working. _Stop._ The world collapses in on him, and Jimin slips away in a puddle of his own blood.

Jimin stares into the black of nothing, listening to the spin of soundlessness around him. He’s losing his mind. The last thing he remembers is his dragon diving at him, and after that it’s just been a world of black fear: the same fear he’s felt sitting within him since he first started practicing magic. There’s no ground, no sky, and nothing in front of him. He can see his own body and nothing else. 

He’s standing in a void, fear crawling up and down his spine as it sees fit.

He opens his mouth to scream, but there is no air to breathe and no sound to expel. His hands shake, but the mark on his wrist remains black, no flashing green to comfort him.

He doesn’t know what he would do with his magic if he had it right now anyway.

This is death, Jimin thinks. This is what is beyond the veil of life. He closes his eyes and lets himself fall, no ground below him to catch him.

+=+

The next time Jimin becomes aware of himself, its with a faint humming accompanying him. Humming isn’t necessarily the right word, but Jimin doesn’t know what else to call the slide of notes on sounds that he’s never heard come from human lips. Maybe it’s not even human. Do the mages count as human? The shifters?

Jimin tries to open his eyes, but the light is too bright, glaring at him as if urging him back into unconsciousness. It splits his skull, and he gasps, his back arching as he tries to grab his head to press against his temples and ease the pain.

“ _Ahn,_ ” Jimin hears. He tries again to get his eyes open. “ _Maimaua-sin._ ” Jimin doesn’t recognize the voice. He doesn’t recognize the words. His eyes crack open barely; the light shifts in the sliver of space.

He sees a silhouette move, the shoulders too broad to be one of the mages he knows. It’s too much, and his head aches. Jimin’s eyes fall shut again, and he breathes heavily through his nose.

“ _Sou ahn korumua reah’e ramal._ ” That voice Jimin knows. It’s Hyejin.

“ _Itreah ahn korumua reah’e ramal?_ ” that unknown voice almost echoes. “Bis-i.” Jimin doesn’t know any words but his title in the stranger’s response. The other speaker is a man, but Jimin can’t gauge his age or the depth of his speech when the sounds of the voices he hears seem to echo to him through a cave, muffled by the bounce of water in mountain streams along the southern stretch. 

He opens his mouth next, attempting to ask a question, but his throat is too dry for words to escape. He breaks into a fit of coughing that tears through his chest worse than the pain in his head. He neck aches, and he feels as if his spine could break.

The people in the room, Hyejin, the stranger, maybe Byulyi, all break into a flurry of speech and sounds that Jimin can’t recognize, can’t distinguish. It sounds as though someone is screaming directly into his ear, and Jimin opens his mouth in a scream he can’t voice.

Hands settle on his chest, the touch warm. It’s the only break from the pain that threatens to rip Jimin to pieces. He focuses on it, tries to cling to it, and then everything is fire. He can see the black fear, but he also can feel it.

Jimin takes one shuddering breath and isn’t sure he will make it to a second one.

+=+

Consciousness doesn’t return to Jimin all at once. It comes to him in stages. It touches his mind first, but he still can’t feel his body. He can’t wiggle his fingers or his toes. He keeps thinking about breathing because it’s the only thing that hasn’t given up on him yet. His heart beats are too slow, his blood sloshing through his body as if it’s not sure if living on or dying is the better option.

 _Breathe,_ Jimin tells himself. His head still hurts, but at least he doesn’t feel like his brain is going to spill out of his ears anymore. _Breathe._

A whine next to him alerts him of Gem’s presence, and for one terrifying moment, Jimin can’t see her, can’t feel her. He tries to force his eyes to focus, but he can only make out the blurry shape of Gem’s fur. She noses at his hand, but he can’t feel the cold.

He feels hot. He feels as though Luce’s fire is still raging around him. 

He tries to say Gem’s name, but all that comes out is a croak. Gem whines and licks his wrist. Jimin’s index fingers twitches, and he focuses as hard as he can on curling his hand into a fist. 

There’s an itch on his thigh. It’s bothersome, a literal itch he can’t move to scratch. He wants to scream. Nothing is working. His eyes burn with unshed tears, and he can’t even breathe in deep enough to let out a soundless cry. Jimin stares at the ceiling of the cave, wondering if he’s really messed up, if he’s ever going to move again.

Gem’s whimpers slowly grow louder, clearer, as time passes. A tear trickles down Jimin’s cheek, and he manages to flinch at the feeling. The draft coming in the mages’ cave ruffles his hair and tries his tear, and Jimin is just grateful he can feel it.

He’s exhausted again but also wide awake. He wonders how long he’s been passed out for; he wonders if anyone is going to show up for him to ask.

He dozes in and out of dreaming, reliving the moments before he was attacked. Becoming a scalebond has done nothing good for him, he thinks. He’s passed out more times in the past few weeks than he has in his entire life in the southern stretch. He glares at the black markings coloring his palm and curling up his wrist. In the dim lighting, with his unfocused eyes, the mark almost looks like dried mud that he could wash away.

He’s not going to be able to wash away a dragon the way he can mud, and Jimin thinks this is what his mother feared: what’s done cannot be undone. 

Gem whines again, climbing up next to Jimin on his pallet. She noses at his face, crying. She licks his chin and over his ear. Jimin’s body reflexively jerks at the feeling, and it startles a laugh out of him. Gem licks his ear again, and the shriek that tries to climb out of Jimin’s throat is naught but a croaking cough, but at least it’s something.

Gem seems satisfied with that much, nosing her way underneath his arm and curling up against his side. She lays her head on his stomach. It’s mildly more difficult to breathe like this, but Gem’s warmth is a gentle comfort compared to the fire that has been racing in Jimin’s blood since he stepped into Luce’s fire. 

Affection, he thinks, is the most potent magic.

Jimin doesn’t remember falling asleep again, but he opens his eyes to hushed voices and warm hands digging into the spaces between his fingers. His arms and legs feel revitalized, almost normal, sensation a welcome tingle that runs through his limbs.

“You’re awake,” Hyejin’s voice reaches him followed by her fingers tapping gently across his forehead. Jimin looks up at her, the glare from the fire in the cave hiding her features. She is looking in the direction of the person holding Jimin’s hands. “ _Se giriri ehmua same._ ”

“I know,” the person, the man, responds with a tone that sounds almost frustrated. Maybe annoyed is a better term. Jimin isn’t awake enough yet to tell the difference. “If his pulse spikes again, I’ll come back, but it should be stable from here.” His voice sounds so familiar, but Jimin can’t place it.

“Okay,” Hyejin murmurs. She returns her focus to Jimin. “How are you feeling?”

Jimin opens his mouth to respond and keels over the side of the pallet in a fit of coughing. His throat feels dry, but he’s moving! He’s moving. He smiles through the pain of his heavy coughing.

“Byulyi,” the man calls out. “Get the idiot prince some water.” His hands fall away from Jimin’s, and it’s probably a good thing that Jimin is struggling to get his dry mouth around words or he would have begged for the man’s hands back. The soothing touch is gone, but he still feels whole.

Byulyi is at Jimin’s side almost immediately with a cup of warm water in her hands. Jimin gulps at it greedily, ignoring Hyejin warning him to not drink too quickly. 

Jimin registers the man standing and walking towards the mouth of the cave, the herbs hanging from the ceiling brushing the hood covering his head.

“Wait-!” he says, and the sudden speech combined with water hitting his empty stomach sends Jimin keeling over again, retching on the floor.

“Well,” Byulyi mutters, standing up with a grimace. “I least we know he’s functioning again.”

“An improvement for sure,” Hyejin says dryly. She flicks her fingers, and water from a basin splashes onto the floor over Jimin’s sick. Byulyi gags but magically mobs the vomit away and flings it out of the cave.

“Get him some soup,” she instructs Hyejin. She narrows her eyes at Jimin. “Drink it _slowly._ You hear?”

“Yes,” Jimin murmurs, his voice sounding like his own. He works to sit up. “Where’s Gem?” he asks.

“She’s a talented little hunter, that dog,” Hyejin says, filling a bowl with what looks like a weak broth. “Taehyung and Jeongguk have fallen in love with her.”

Jimin snorts and smiles down at his hands. “She’s a good girl,” he says.

“Unlike her owner,” Byulyi quips, taking the bowl from Hyejin’s hands and passing it to Jimin. His fingers shake a little, spilling a few drops on the blanket over him, but he manages to sip the soup just fine. The vague chicken and ginger flavor is watery at best, but it calms his stomach. He belatedly scowls at Byulyi.

“So I see you are feeling fine,” Hyejin says, bringing over a poultice. The smell is strong but not upsetting. She urges Jimin to scoot forward and settles behind him. The blanket falls from around his shoulders, and Jimin shivers in the sudden chill. “These are healing well.”

An image of Jimin’s dragon diving for his neck, her teeth clamped on his shoulder, flits to his memory.

“Honestly, we all thought you were going to die,” Byulyi says, leaning over to inspect the wounds. “But it seems bumpkins are full of surprises.” Jimin elects to drink his soup and say nothing. The poultice is cold on his skin, but it warms quickly as Hyejin works it into the marks. Jimin wonders how bad they look, if his skin is completely torn or if a clear print of dragon teeth is visible.

“Wiggle your toes, please,” Byulyi requests. Jimin does so without thinking, and Byulyi grins. “And bend your knees.” Jimin draws his knees to his chest and crosses his legs. Relief settles the nausea in his stomach. 

“I woke up earlier and couldn’t move at all,” Jimin confesses.

“That was two days ago,” Byulyi reveals, and Jimin stares at her. 

“It feels like only a few hours ago!” he protests.

“Yeah, well,” Hyejin says, standing up with poultice smeared on her fingers. “Time is hard to gauge when you’re unconscious.” She holds out her hand for Jimin’s empty bowl. “Do you want more?” Jimin shakes his head, and Hyejin gathers the dishes, taking them over to a basin stacked high with cups and various tools Jimin can’t even begin to name. 

“Who was with me?” he asks. Byulyi pokes his side, and Jimin yelps, nearly jumping out of his pallet.

“He’s fine,” Byulyi announces. She moves to join Hyejin at the basin, lifting a bucket of water to dump over the dishes. Hyejin’s magic keeps the water from splashing everywhere. 

“Are you avoiding my question?” Jimin demands. Both of them glance back at him and then at each other. They talk quietly together, and Jimin can’t understand anything. He recognizes the sounds as being from the mages’ language, but it wouldn’t be any better if they were using King’s speech. He doesn’t understanding anything of that either. 

“I’m going to go tell Seokjin that you’re awake,” Hyejin states. She grabs a cloak and ties it around her shoulders. Jimin wants to growl, but unlike before, his anger doesn’t incite his mark to glow. He frowns at it. 

“You’re avoiding telling me things again,” Jimin corrects. Hyejin does not offer anything in response to that, leaving the cave with her cloak snapping behind her.

“Things are more complicated than you know,” Byulyi offers as if that were some sort of comfort. She makes her way back to Jimin and holds out her hands. “Come. Let’s see you walk.”

Jimin crosses his arms. “I don’t want to.”

“I saved your life,” Byulyi says. “Listen to me as part of your payment.”

“I think that man saved my life,” Jimin challenges. Byulyi’s expression flickers, but Jimin can’t read it. 

“Then pay him back by listening to me,” Byulyi adjusts.

“Who is he?” Jimin asks again. Byulyi grabs Jimin’s elbows.

“Walk,” she orders again, knocking Jimin’s question aside blatantly. He tries to jerk his arms out of Byulyi’s hold, but magic grabs his blankets and rips them away, leaving him shivering. “Your clothes are there,” Byulyi points at a point some seven paces away. “Go get them if you don’t want to be cold.”

A dirty trick, that’s what this is, but the fire in the cave is only enough to offer light, not to cut the draft from the winter outside. Jimin’s face is going to get stuck in a permanent scowl. He makes to get to his feet, still glaring at Byulyi. He pushes up, and his knees buckle.

“Shit!” he gasps. Byulyi grabs him before he can hit the ground, hauling him back up to his feet. She holds him upright until he’s sure he’s steady, and Jimin pants, testing one foot and then the other.

“How long was I out?” he asks, taking one careful step.

“Weeks,” Byulyi answers. “There’s snow outside.”

 _Snow._ Jimin counts back. It must almost be the new year then. He voices his thought: “How long until the new year?” 

“Another couple weeks,” Byulyi tells him. She gets really quiet. “Jimin, we really… we really weren’t sure you were going to wake up at all.” 

It’s the grave tone of her voice, the raw memory of fear present in her speech, that drives Jimin to take the walk to his clothes and pull his shirt on. He stumbles a few times, but he sets his jaw and focuses. These people frustrate him with their secrets and privacy, but he does owe them his life.

He’s the one who chose to not listen to Yoongi’s warnings about his dragon.

“How is my dragon?” he asks, tying his boot laces.

“Yoongi would kill me if I told you,” Byulyi answers with the most solemn voice. Jimin doesn’t doubt she’s serious. “And he would kill you if he heard you refer to her as _yours._ ” Jimin straightens, stumbling a little. 

“But she hatched for-!”

“Dragons are proud creatures, Jimin,” Byulyi reminds him, grabbing him by the shoulder. “They don’t even deem our languages fit to be spoken. You can’t _own_ a dragon. She chose you, and that’s an honor.” Jimin gulps, relaxing into a casual stance. His knees still shake a little, but he doesn’t feel in danger of falling over in the next second.

“I shouldn’t ask to see her then,” Jimin says. He phrases it like a question, but he’s not really asking. Byulyi doesn’t answer. Jimin sighs. “I’m dressed. What now?”

Byulyi gestures towards the mouth of the cave. “Now, you walk. Gain your strength back. It’s not going to get easier from here.” She takes him by the arm and drags him outside without giving him time to process the threat buried in her words.

Jimin kicks at the ground irritably. Everything is already terrible, and according to the mage, it’s only going to get worse. “I’ll just go back to bed then.” Byulyi’s grip on Jimin’s arm tightens, sparks of magic against the sensitive skin of his inner arm. Jimin hisses, trying to yank his arm free.

“There’s only one good thing about rescuing you from the brink of death,” Byulyi tells him, her magic still coursing through him. “And it’s that we will have to build you up from the bottom again. You have no strength, and no training in magic. Your body doesn’t even know to reject it now.” The magic she’s using glows in her eyes, and Jimin gapes, feeling the mage’s power course through him but not harm him. It’s not a comfortable feeling; it’s like water hurtling through his body, dragging him in various directions at once. He swallows, doing his best to breathe.

“Come on, Jimin,” Byulyi murmurs, leaning in close to his ear with her teeth bared. “Force it out.”

“The magic?” Jimin questions, and Byulyi answers with more power in his system. Jimin grits his teeth. _Force it out._ He’s been through enough training with Byulyi and Hyejin to understand how this is supposed to work, what he’s supposed to do in theory. 

He inhales, focusing on the energy in him, seeing it as something foreign. He imagines it spinning, hurtling through him to meet in his stomach. It nearly knocks the wind from him, but he holds on until the energy gathered in his core is searing. He exhales through gritted teeth, and the energy bursts from his breath. There’s no magic to fill the space left behind, nothing but his skin and mental defenses to protect him.

Byulyi pushes again her magic, but Jimin holds his breath and holds firm.

Byulyi lets go of his arm and claps thrice. “Very good, _itreah,_ ” she praises. “Seems like we did manage to get something through your skull.”

Jimin sags, panting. He leans over with his hands on his knees. Byuli smacks his shoulder next.

“We've got to get your stamina up next,” she announces. “Before you can study any more magic.” 

Jimin scowls. “I'm a hunter. I have great stamina.”

Byulyi squints at him. “ _Had_ great stamina. You've been passed out for weeks. You've lost muscle tone, breathing capacity… even your ability to stay awake for a whole day.” Just as she says it, Jimin can already feel exhaustion creeping into his bones weighing him down.

He nods. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“I know,” Byulyi states, tossing her hair back.

“Byulyi!” Hyejin’s voice calls, and Jimin looks up to see her and Seokjin heading towards them. Seokjin’s grin is wide and relieved when he sees Jimin, and Jimin raises his hand to wave. Seokjin returns the gesture with a grand bow upon coming to a stop in front of Jimin.

“The little prince is finally awake!” Seokjin cheers. Hyejin grumbles next to Seokjin in her own language, and Byulyi snorts. Seokjin ignores them both, but Jimn has a sneaking suspicion it’s because he has no idea what the mages said. “I knew you’d be fine.”

“Byulyi said she thought I would die,” Jimin mutters.

Seokjin shrugs. “Mages are always pessimistic. They can’t help it.” Byulyi and Hyejin screech in protest, and the corner of Seokjin’s mouth turns up in a smirk. He’s teasing, his pleased expression giving him away. Jimin coughs to hide his own laugh.

“ _Lout-bu_ ,” Hyejin hisses, glaring at Seokjin.

“ _Lout-bu_?” Jimin copies, testing the word carefully. Byulyi bursts out laughing, her cackles echoing off the open sky.

Seokjin opens his eyes wide. “Jimin,” he warns playfully. “Don’t learn this word. It’s insulting.” Hyejin laughs too.

“Any respectable speaker of King’s speech should know a few insults,” she insists. “How is he going to intimidate anyone if he doesn’t know how?”

“I highly doubt calling the Circle ‘fucker’ is going to make them tremble in fear,” Seokjin retorts. “A dragon’s presence will do a much better job.”

Hyejin scoffs at that. “He doesn’t have a dragon right now. He’ll have to make do with a few swear words.” She reaches out for Byulyi, taking her hand. “Come, sister. We have stores to replenish after saving this one.” 

Byulyi nods. “We have to work quickly before he’s back in our cave and half-dead again.” Both women laugh, wandering away with the sounds of their own language trailing back to them. Jimin is pretty sure Byulyi meant her last words in common tongue as a jest, but Jimin hears them as a challenge. He’s not going to end up comatose in the mages’ care again. 

Like Byulyi said earlier, he’s a blank slate now. He has a lot of work to do, and if he wants to see his dragon again, he can’t make mistakes.

“That’s an awfully thoughtful expression you’re wearing,” Seokjin says, drawing Jimin’s attention back to him. “A bit determined and maybe uncertain. You’ve got a fascinating face, Jimin.”

Jimin flushes. “Is that… a good thing?”

“It’s honest,” Seokjin says. “I can read you so easily. It’s not good or bad; it’s just how you are.”

“Oh.” Jimin deflates. Seokjin hums, watching him, but says nothing.

“Walk with me,” Seokjin offers. “I’ll go easy on you today. Just an easy lap through the woods.”

“And tomorrow?” Jimin asks, cautious. Seokjin laughs with a certain gleam in his eye that Jimin can’t decipher or even begin to know what it means. He swallows.

“Worry about tomorrow tomorrow,” Seokjin preaches. He adjusts his cloak over his shoulders. “For now, we walk.” He takes off the way he came, walking slowly enough for Jimin to catch up but not so slow that Jimin’s thighs and calves don’t burn from the uneven terrain. It’s not an easy walk by any means, but no one likes to just speak plainly with him around here. Jimin tries his best to hide how out of breath he feels. They’re only walking, and yet Jimin is ready to keel over at any moment. 

Seokjin keeps chattering away about nothing, telling him the words for things in King’s speech as if Jimin is going to remember them all without taking notes and while he’s distracted by how much he’s sweating from a simple walk.

“I’ve never seen you stumble this much,” Seokjin teases. He throws and arm around Jimin’s shoulder, and Jimin nearly crashes to the ground at the sudden weight. Seokjin grabs onto the collar of his coat, keeping him upright. “You’re like a fawn.”

“You’re not making this easy,” Jimin grits out. He narrows his eyes at Seokjin. “ _Lout-bu._ ” Seokjin cackles, pulling Jimin in close to him and offering his support as they set off walking again. They’re heading towards the clearing where they gather to eat, the sun already beginning to set. They’ve been walking for hours, and Jimin is ready to sit down and never move again.

“Of course that’s the one you remember best,” Seokjin crows. “Hold onto that, and you’ll be speaking _reah’e ramal_ as easily as you speak common soon enough.”

Jimin’s eyebrows furrow. “What is that?” he asks. “ _Reah_...uh…whatever.”

“ _Reah’e ramal,_ ” Seokjin repeats. The trees are thinning, the scent of roasting hare faint but inviting. “You already know _reah,_ don’t you, _itreah_?”

“King,” Jimin translates easily enough. It’s easy enough to remember with everyone calling him prince in King’s speech. His foot catches on a branch, but Seokjin holds him up, squeezing his shoulder.

“Right,” Seokjin says. “Good. _Ramal_ is speech. So… what do you think _reah’e ramal_ means?”

Jimin brightens. “It’s King’s speech!”

“Very good,” Seokjin cheers. “You’ll learn, little prince. I promise. We all are here to help you.” He squeezes Jimin’s shoulder again, and Jimin is flooded with the feeling of warmth and support.

They break through the trees to the clearing, the mages and the other shifters sitting around the fire alongside Yoongi. Jimin’s not alone, and the relief that comes with that realization gives him the push to walk the rest of the way to the fire pit and sit down next to Jeongguk and Taehyung.

“Jimin!” Taehyung shouts, pulling his hands from Hyejin’s grasp to wrap his arms around Jimin’s neck. “Hyejin said you would be here. I’m so happy you’re awake and alive and not dead!” He leans over Jimin and snatches the platter Jeongguk is holding out of his hands. “You’re too skinny. You need to eat.”

“ _Gamaman_ ,” Jeongguk sneers. 

Taehyung sticks out his tongue at him. “He’s calling me a grandmother,” he whispers to Jimin. “Rude.”

“You are, though,” Jimin laughs, nodding in approval in Jeongguk’s direction. Jeongguk’s front teeth seem extra pronounced with his wide grin.

“Gem!” he hollers at the trees, and Jimin has to set the platter of food down before his arms are suddenly full of brown fur. Gem licks at his face, whining as her tail wags dangerously close to the fire. 

“Hey, girl, hey,” Jimin coos, forcing Gem to sit before she catches her tail on fire. She keeps nosing at his face and neck. “How are you?” Gem whines again and licks across Jimin’s ear. He yelps, shoving Gem away from him and then grabbing her by the scruff of her neck before she can dive at Jimin’s plate. He grunts at the effort of holding her back. He really has lost strength.

“Sit down, Gem,” he orders, adjusting to sit with his legs stretched out in front of him. “Come on. There you go. Good girl. Lay down. Yeah.” Gem listens easily enough, flopping down next to Jimin with her wagging tail brushing against his back and her snout settles on his ankles. He brushes an absentminded hand through Gem’s fur, and Jeongguk hands the platter that was originally his back to Jimin. Gem perks up in interest, and Jimin smacks her rump lightly in warning.

“I get more food. Next plate,” Jeongguk says, standing. He makes his way over to the supplies situated near Yoongi, and when Jimin focuses on Yoongi, he sees the dragon tamer is staring balefully at him.

His eyes narrow further when he notices he has Jimin’s attention. “Good to see you’re alive,” he mutters, sounding less than pleased. “But, you know, you never would have ended up almost dead if you’d just listened to me.”

A collective hush, broken only by the breeze and the popping of the fire, falls over the gathered group.

“Yoongi,” Yongsun begins, gently.

“He didn’t listen,” Yoongi cuts her off. “And he nearly died.” Jimin flinches. Gem whines, rolling onto her stomach, teeth bared.

“He knows that,” Seokjin interrupts, standing up. Yoongi stands too, facing his lover. Even though Yoongi is much smaller than Seokjin, his presence is pronounced. The air seems to warm with the heat of the fires that have seared scars into Yoongi’s skin.

“Does he?” Yoongi challenges. He looks from Seokjin to Jimin, and his judgement makes Jimin’s skin crawl. “He wasn’t raised a prince, but he sure seems to have that haughty attitude.” He spits on the ground. “Can’t believe a dragon picked _royalty._ ”

“Yet she did,” Seokjin snaps. “Are you doubting her judgement, my love?” He sneers the endearment. Yoongi’s lip curls, and he steps in closer to Seokjin.

“I’m sure she regrets it now,” Yoongi retorts with a nod in Jimin’s direction. “Look at his mark.” Jimin has to resist the urge to tuck his hand away, but it’s too late: everyone has already turned to see the black mark appearing matte and faded. 

“She was just as hurt by her attack as Jimin was,” Wheein speaks up. “Since she bonded with Jimin, her power circulates through his body to her own and it grows on his energy. She’s too young and too small to protect herself from that.”

“I know that,” Yoongi hisses at her, and Jimin doesn’t miss the eagle talons curved on the edge of Wheein’s fingers as she recoils and snarls in frustration.

“Wheein doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like that,” Seokjin says, grabbing Yoongi’s shoulder. “And neither does Jimin.” Wheein stands with her arms crossed at that, an eyebrow raised, clearly expecting an apology. Yoongi just frowns harder.

“I think Jimin learned his lesson,” Seokjin continues. “He did almost die. He’ll know to listen to you next time. To us, really.” He shoots Jimin a meaningful glance, and for all the patience Seokjin seems to have that Yoongi doesn’t, in that moment, Jimin can easily see why they make a good pair. Both expect orders to be followed without question.

Jimin sets his food aside and stands. Gem stands too, still growling. Jeongguk wraps and arm around her neck, keeping her calm.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, staring at his feet. He speaks so softly that he barely hears his own words leave his mouth.

“What?” Yoongi demands.

Jimin exhales and steels himself. He looks up, meeting Yoongi’s unforgiving glare. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “You were just looking out for me, and I didn’t listen. I’m sorry.” Those are the same words he wishes he could say to his mother. 

“But?” Yoongi prompts.

Jimin shakes his head. “Nothing. That’s all there is to it. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Yoongi keeps watching Jimin for a long moment, surveying his face. Seokjin smacks Yoongi’s arm.

“Alright,” Yoongi gives in. “You’re still young. You’re just lucky you didn’t die.” Jimin has nothing to say to that; the mages have already made it abundantly clear they weren’t sure he would live.

“Wow,” Taehyung blurts out, loud and bright from where he sits on the ground next to Jimin’s feet. “That was very tense. Very intimidating. Are we done posturing now? Can we eat?”

“Yes,” Byulyi says before either Seokjin or Yoongi can speak. “We can eat, and not speak of near-deaths again.” Her threat is enough to sit Yoongi down, shoveling rabbit into his mouth to avoid speaking again.

“He was worried too,” Taehyung whispers in Jimin’s ear when he sits back down. Jeongguk sets Jimin’s platter back in his lap and releases Gem’s collar. She settles back down next to Jimin again, this time leaning her shoulder against his and trying to snag bites of his food. “About you. Yoongi was. And the little green dragon,” Taehyung adds. “He’s actually a softie. It’s Seokjin you really need to watch out for. He would kill you and smile through the whole thing.”

Jeongguk shudders next to Jimin as if to agree. “My brother,” he says, words even more heavily accented around the food in his mouth. “Scary. If he want to be scary, then he scary. You know?”

Jimin doesn’t know, but the way Taehyung and Jeongguk talk, he’s not sure he wants to. “Yeah,” he agrees, just in case.

“Eat more,” Taehyung encourages. “You’re gonna need it tomorrow.”

Jimin pauses in picking fatty tissue off the rabbit meat. “What’s tomorrow?” He hands the fatty piece to Gem who chomps on it happily, tail swishing in the snow-damp grass.

“Tomorrow,” Hyejin answers solemnly from Taehyung’s other side, and the ambiguity is just as terrifying as an actual answer might have been. 

Despite the butterflies in his his stomach, Jimin does his best to eat his fill.

+=+

Tomorrow becomes today far too quickly for Jimin’s liking. His muscles ache in protest when he wakes with Gem sitting happily beside him, wagging her tail. Jimin stretches his arms over his head, sighing when his back pops. He’s sore, but it’s the good kind of sore that makes him feel stronger.

Seokjin definitely was lying when he said they would take an easy lap through the woods, and Jimin is feeling it. 

“Hey, Gemma girl,” he murmurs, still sleepy. She’s still got a bit of blood around her muzzle, a feather stuck in her teeth, and it lifts Jimin’s spirits to know the old girl can still fend for herself. “How was your pheasant?” Gem just wags her tail and barks.

Jimin pats her head and scratches her ears before he pushes himself up. The blankets fall back, and he shivers in the chill. He hopes he can move to a better place to sleep than the mages’ cave soon. The herbs are giving him a headache. 

Jimin grabs his coat and furs and shrugs them on. Gem prances next to him as he works to get his boots on without his wool socks scrunching up. Her tongue lolls out of her mouth like she’s anticipating going hunting.

“You just hunted, girl,” Jimin soothes. “Did you bring me anything? Huh?” Gem whines, nudging against his hand as he secures his boots. Jimin straightens and tugs playfully as Gem’s ear. “Let’s go.”

Gem bounds out of the cave ahead of Jimin, darting straight into a snowbank and coming up snapping her jaws at the little flurries that fly up from her movements. She may be eleven years old, but she still plays like a puppy. Being around Taehyung and the other shifters has brought a second life to her, it seems.

Jimin walks out into the sunlight bouncing off the snow. The powder is fresh and light, and he sinks into it with every step. The sky overhead is a clear blue, doing nothing to help keep the glare of the sun out of Jimin’s eyes. He squints. 

“You’re up,” greets Jimin before he can get his eyes to focus on Seokjin walking towards him. He holds up a hand to block the glare and is pleased to see Seokjin doing the same. 

“Yeah,” Jimin says. He kicks at the snow. “Gem woke me up.”

“She was really distressed when you wouldn’t wake up,” Seokjin soothes, watching the dog play in the snow by herself. “So I can’t say I blame her.” He unstraps a wineskin from his belt and tosses it at Jimin. He hadn’t even realized how thirsty he is until the water slides down his throat. 

“Drink the rest of that as we walk,” Seokjin orders. Jimin groans.

“We’re walking again today?”

Seokjin shakes his head, turning into the thick of the forest. “Yes, but not in a circle. We have a destination today.”

That piques Jimin’s interest, and he hurries his step to walk beside Seokjin. “Gem! Heel,” he calls. The dog comes bounding after them. “Where are we going?”

“To meet someone,” Seokjin answers vaguely. Jimin groans again. 

“Thanks for the specifics,” he grumbles. He takes another mouthful of water.

Seokjin offers a smile in response, but it doesn’t soothe Jimin’s irritation at how stingy these people are with information. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” Seokjin explains. “But he will help you.”

“How?”

“You’ll see,” is all Seokjin says in response. “Did you sleep well?”

Jimin pouts. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Drink,” Seokjin reminds, steering Jimin farther into the woods than he’s been yet. “And hurry. He’s not the patient person. Used to be, but not anymore.” Jimin waits for Seokjin to say more, but apparently, cryptic phrases are the best he’s going to get. 

Jimin tries to recall the names he’s heard thrown around between the others, but he fumbles. He remembers Ever, but the other two escape him. He thinks of the man who was there when he woke up in the cave for the first time after seeing his dragon.

“Hey, Seokjin,” Jimin starts, taking a dutiful sip of water when Seokjin eyes him, looking from the wineskin to Jimin’s face. He wipes his mouth on his coat sleeve. “Who was there in the cave with the mages? When I was… out.” Seokjin tilts his head curiously. “Byulyi wouldn’t tell me,” Jimin elaborates. “But I remember seeing someone.”

Seokjin turns at an old blackened tree stump. “Yes, I’m sure you do,” he whispers. “He saved your life.”

“Who is he?” Jimin asks. Seokjin bites his bottom lip, weighing his words carefully.

“A rider should always help another rider,” Seokjin says.

“A rider?” Jimin echoes, tripping over the word. “That man is a scalebond? Like me?”

“You’re not the only one, of course,” Seokjin tells him. “But he was the only one for a long time. The Circle destroyed a lot of lives.”

“Can I meet him?” Jimin presses. “What’s his name?”

“I think it’s best you wait for him to show himself to you,” Seokjin says. He looks up at the sky. “Enough questions. We’re almost there.” Jimin has to bite his tongue to keep from asking more questions. He’s been here long enough to know pressing for answers will get him nowhere. 

The trees begin to thin again, the underbrush becoming more rocks than shrubbery. The treeline breaks into a small mesa, and Jimin stares at the open area, feeling far more exposed despite how far from the mages and the other shifters he is. He was raised in the depths of the trees. Out from beneath their coverage, he’s afraid. 

“We’re here,” Seokjin announces. “Step out a little further.”

“Where is here?” 

Seokjin just shakes his head and retreats back to the treeline, leaving Jimin to stand in the open alone. He shivers. The wind is colder here, loud and violent. Jimin’s hair stings his forehead and cheeks.

“Gem,” Seokjin calls. “Come here.” Gem looks between Jimin and Seokjin, and Jimin wants to protest, wants to keep Gem right beside him as a source of comfort. But Jimin almost died the last time he decided to ignore direct orders, and so he pats Gem’s head.

“Go on, girl,” he urges. The wind is blowing harder. Jimin stumbles forward a step. “Go.”

“Gem!” Seokjin hollers against the roar of the wind. Gem leaves Jimin’s side, prancing over to the shifter. Seokjin grips her collar, keeping her beside him, and in that moment of realizing that whatever happens next, Seokjin isn’t going to allow his dog to come protect him, the sun disappears.

Jimin looks up.

A great beast flies over him, blotting out the sun. Jimin gapes, in awe of the red scales flashing at the edge of the silhouette. He gasps, and in that second the beast gone, a laugh resounding over the wind of its passing. The sudden vortex throws Jimin forward, collapsing on his hands and knees. 

A red dragon.

The dragon’s wings angle up, and it flies high, curving until Jimin can clearly make out a saddle and a person on the dragon’s back.

 _The rider._

Jimin scrambles to his feet, unsure of what to do. His heart thunders in his chest, his pulse racing. His hands shake. He’s fascinated and terrified. He doesn’t know if the dragon and its rider see him as friend or foe, but surely Seokjin wouldn’t bring him here if he were in any real danger.

The dragon turns over, spiraling through the air and diving towards Jimin. 

Jimin doesn’t know what else to do. He runs.

It’s irrational. He could never outrun a flying dragon- he can’t even outrun his dog. The ground in front of him glow yellow, and he turns to glance over his shoulder. The dragon’s mouth is open, orange eyes brighter than the sun and yellow fire spinning in the back of its throat. 

“No!” Jimin shouts. His foot snags on a rock, and he crashes to the ground, tumbling across uneven terrain. Rocks and weeds dig into his sides and tear at his hands and cheeks. He’s crying, he realizes, trembling as the dragon lands in front of him, maw still threatening him.

“Stop!” Jimin yells. “Please! I’m a scalebond too! I- _don’t!_ ”

“ _Goerir!_ ” resounds in the air, and the dragon crouches. Jimin can feel the heat of the dragon’s fire against his face. He’s going to die. “ _Cha!_ ”

Fire explodes from the dragon’s mouth. Jimin screams, closing his eyes in panic.

A mad laugh sounds over the roar of the flames, the heat threatening but not burning. Jimin cracks his eyes open, and then he’s staring wide-eyed at the fire streaming over his head. The yellow flames seems to twist with every color, green, purple and red dancing within its mass. It’s beautiful.

“ _Fumua-neir,_ ” the same voice orders, and the fire ceases. Smoke floats up from the dragon’s nostrils, and it seems to snort at Jimin in contempt. Jimin scrambles to get to his knees, hands on the ground, panting hard. His arms shake, but he’s alive. He’s okay.

“I thought you were bringing me a rider, Seokjin,” is shouted into the suddenly quiet space. Jimin looks up, and a man jumps down from the dragon’s shoulder. He falls through the air with all the grace of a bird, and when he hits the ground, he somersaults back into a standing position. Jimin gapes. 

Seokjin steps out of the treeline. “Enough with the theatrics, Hoseok,” he sighs. “He’s a new rider. Hasn’t had any training.” The man, Hoseok, scoffs at that. His hair is wild, standing up in all directions. His bare shoulders are tinged pink with sunburn, and he’s shirtless. The width of his shoulders isn’t particularly broad, but it’s a back that Jimin recognizes from the haze of unconsciousness. 

This is the man who saved him. This is the rider Seokjin had mentioned. This is the Hoseok that the others had spoken of but never elaborated about.

“So you had him hatch his dragon and then what? Almost got him killed by his power?” Hoseok sneers. His arms are windburned. 

“My lover helped him,” Seokjin defends. “It’s him who didn’t listen and got himself in that state.” He’s referring to Jimin’s weeks spent comatose. Jimin bristles.

Hoseok does too. “Yoongi know about dragons, but he knows nothing of the bond between a rider and dragon. You should have brought him to me before he fucked up his bond.”

“I would have,” Seokjin defends, “if you weren’t too busy playing hide and seek. If Wheein hadn’t managed to find you, well. You would be responsible for his death as the only one who could have saved him.”

“He’s responsible for his own life,” Hoseok retorts. He rounds on Jimin then, and Jimin stares. The rider’s eyes are just as orange as his dragon’s. “But I suppose that’s what happens when shapeshifters and mages try to teach a scalebond how to be a proper rider.”

“You weren’t there to teach me,” Jimin spits. “What choice did I have?” Hoseok stares at him, and Seokjin takes a hesitant step forward. Jimin slaps a hand over his own mouth. “I-”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, leaning a hand against the dragon’s giant foreleg for support as he dissolves into mad cackling. With the shift of the sunlight over the dragon’s scales, it looks as if fresh blood is flowing over the dragon’s body. It’s magnificent.

“That _accent,_ ” the rider gasps out. His laughter sounds cruel, but he looks impressed. “ _Fuck,_ the king really hid you away good, didn’t he?” His dark hair falls over his eyes. “You look just like him. You’re him, aren’t you? The lost king’s son.”

It’s still a strange concept. Jimin’s fingers are still shaking with adrenaline. “Yes,” he breathes. “Jimin Park.”

“Park,” Hoseok echoes. “Such a pretentious name, you know? But Lady Song sure had the Circle fooled with her affair with Sir McKay. A brilliant ploy, really. How is Ferris these days?”

It’s been a long time since Jimin has heard his foster father’s name.

“He’s dead,” he manages to get out past the chaos in his head. Hoseok knows Jimin’s mother. How many people know about Jimin’s existence that Jimin doesn’t even know, he wonders.

Hoseok’s laugh freezes in place. “How?”

“A disease,” Jimin answers. “Two winters ago.” Hoseok is silent, but his eyes glisten. Jimin wants to know how well Hoseok had known his foster father, how well he had known his mother. The dragon turns its giant head and touches its snout to Hoseok’s head. 

“ _Ehm, Georir,_ ” Hoseok soothes, reaching up to pat the dragon’s nose. A bit of flame touches his hand, and he doesn’t flinch.

Right, Jimin remembers, scalebonds are immune to fire. Embarrassment floods him at running from the dragon’s fire.

“He never mentioned any scalebond friends,” Jimin ventures.

“Of course not,” Hoseok sneers. “You were never supposed to know that you’re a prince. Lady Song wanted to hide you away forever. Fate however… a fickle lady.” He surges forward, and Jimin gasps. He had barely seen Hoseok move. The rider grabs his hand and shoves the sleeve of his coat down his arm, looking at his mark.

“A scalebonded prince,” Hoseok murmurs. “Never thought I’d see the day.” Seokjin snorts in agreement. Hoseok hums to himself, the sound oddly floaty, not quite a hum that Jimin is used to hearing. 

He turns to face Jimin, and too late, he realizes Hoseok was speaking in dragon song. 

Magic bursts from Hoseok’s hands. Jimin shouts. The magic makes impact with his chest, and he falls flat on his back, coughing with the wind knocked from him.

“Wow,” Hoseok says, staring down at him. “We have a fuck-ton of work to do.” He shakes his head, watching Jimin struggle to get up. He holds out a hand, and a pressure that Jimin can’t see holds him down. He fights against it, but Hoseok just sits down on his dragon’s paw and props his chin on a hand propped on his knee. He glances at Seokjin. “How do you expect to defeat the Circle with this?”

“Let me up!” Jimin screams. He’s a person, not a this! Hoseok sighs at him, looking utterly bored.

“You’ll figure something out,” Seokjin comments with an airy wave of his hand. He turns then. “Have fun, Jimin,” he calls back, heading back to the cover of the treeline. 

“Seokjin!” Jimin hollers in slight panic. Seokjin doesn’t look back, just calls Gem to come with him. They disappear quickly, leaving Jimin alone with Hoseok and his dragon. “Seokjin!”

“He’s not going to help you,” Hoseok sighs. “You’re not going anywhere until you figure out how to get up.”

“Let me up!” Jimin demands anyway.

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “No. I have to train you how to be rider. And I find that experience is the best teacher. So. Get yourself out of this.” He turns his hand over, and the invisible force holding Jimin down becomes a translucent red force. 

“I don’t know how,” Jimin scowls, still giving futile efforts to push himself up. His lacking physical strength can’t possibly stand up to Hoseok’s carefully controlled magic backed by the red dragon standing beside him. 

“I know that,” Hoseok tells him. “But you’ll figure it out. Georir decided not to hit you with his fire, so he must like you. There’s hope for you.”

“Go- Goerir?” Jimin gasps. “Your dragon?”

Hoseok’s eyes narrow, and he gets up from sitting on Georir’s paw. He moves over to Jimin and crouches down beside him. The closer he gets, the harder the magic presses Jimin into the ground. He grits his teeth, gasping for breath.

“Lesson one,” Hoseok starts. “The same thing I was first told when Georir chose me.” He leans in close to Jimin so that Jimin can’t look away from his orange eyes. “ _Megnar ehmua se’e kumrir._ ” 

“What… what does that mean?” Jimin’s chest is really starting to hurt.

“A dragon is his own master,” Hoseok translates. He goes on, “You are nothing but the lucky one he chose to share his power with.” He jabs a finger in Jimin’s chest, and Jimin cries out at the pain of it. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t!” Jimin promises, choking on the words.

“ _Megnar ehmua se’e kumrir,_ ” Hoseok repeats. He eases up, returning to standing, and Jimin sucks in air, chest heaving beneath the restraints.

“Seokjin told me to promise you that we’ll find your father,” Hoseok announces. He puts his arms behind his back, lacing his fingers together. Sparks of magic bounce from his skin, and Jimin is drawn to the red mark twisting its way up his arm to clash with the pink sunburn on his shoulders. “He told me to promise you that we’ll find your mother, that we’ll reunite your family. He told me to promise you anything that gets you to fight for our cause.”

Jimin bristles at that. “Seokjin wants to use me?”

“I don’t think you need to be used, Jimin,” Hoseok presses on, passing the question. “I think you know that returning the kingdom to its former order, with a good king on the throne, is the only way any of us, including you and the little dragon, get to survive. And I don’t think you’re quite ready to be a martyr.” He pauses in his speech. “Are you ever planning to get up or are you going to lay there all day?”

“You won’t let me up,” Jimin grits out. 

Hoseok’s markings flash, and the restraints press down again. “The kingdom is going to be ruined by the Circle. Not just King’s City, but the whole thing. The southern stretch, the western seas, the northern plains. These mountains. Every person will be a slave to the whims of magicians who have perverted something beautiful into something of horrors. And all you’re going to do is lay there, trapped on the ground, feeling sorry for yourself, when you could do something about it?”

“I’m not!” Jimin protests. Hoseok is really starting to make him mad, teasing him when he’s the one holding him down.

“You’re not?” Hoseok barks out a laugh. “You don’t seem to be doing much else.” He steps up to stand in the shadow of Jimin’s feet, and leans over him. “Are you a rider or aren’t you?”

The frustration boils in Jimin’s chest. “I am!”

“Then fucking break free, Jimin!” Hoseok challenges. Something rises up in Jimin’s chest, and he forgets to concentrate on being trapped. Instead, the energy of his annoyance and frustration bursts out of him. 

“Shut up!” Jimin screams, shoving against the ground, and for a second, the world is but a clash of red and green.

When it clears, snow and ash floating in the air in the aftermath, Jimin sees Hoseok clapping, his mark dying down into a deep red. 

“So he’s a rider after all,” Hoseok crows. “I was really beginning to doubt you there.” Hoseok walks over and holds out his hand for Jimin to take. Jimin feels vaguely like he’s floating as he reaches up to graps Hoseok’s forearm, his black mark lining up with Hoseok’s own. The rider pulls Jimin to his feet.

“What was all of that for?” Jimin demands when he’s upright and standing on his own.

“Your dragon isn’t sharing a lot of power with you right now,” Hoseok answers. “I needed to make sure you could still access his power.”

“Her,” Jimin corrects.

“Her,” Hoseok concedes.

“She used to share a lot of power with me,” Jimin blurts. “The mages had to help me with it, but then I… well. You know.”

Hoseok closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “She tried to build your bond too fast. And the mages don’t know how to regulate it. I… I should have been there.” He opens his eyes and surveys Jimin again. “Do you know her name?”

Jimin blinks. “Her name?”

“Yes,” Hoseok stresses. “Her name. The one you gave you, I mean.”

Jimin shakes his head. “I… I don’t know.”

“Bonded dragons have two names,” Hoseok informs him. “One that they know from birth, and one that you give them because pronouncing dragon song is very difficult.” He pauses. “Do you know dragon song, at least?”

Jimin hunches his shoulders, looking away from Hoseok and his dragon and their matching eyes. “No… I… the mages said I should know it, but… I don’t.” He bites his lip.

“ _Rom megnar’e reah,_ ” Hoseok mutters, and Jimin recognizes the word for dragon and king, but Hoseok tone of voice sounds everything like a curse. “Okay,” Hoseok says, clearing his throat. “Okay. It’s fine. It will be easier to train you when you have to rely on your own strength.” 

Jimin brightens, and Hoseok shakes his head. “Easier,” he reiterates, “but not easy.” He leans in close to Jimin, and his eyes are sharp, blazing. “Being a rider isn’t simple, boy. It requires sacrifices you have to be sure you’re ready to make.”

Jimin thinks of his missing mother and his destroyed home. He lost those unwillingly; how much more painful will it be to knowingly sacrifice something or someone he loves? He can’t meet Hoseok’s stare.

"I'm sure," he lies, and he's pretty sure Hoseok knows it. Still, the rider straightens and nods, apparently satisfied.

“I’ll talk to Yoongi about the little dragon,” he promises.

“So I can see her?” Jimin jumps up.

“No,” Hoseok cuts him off immediately. “You won’t see her until she’s ready to see you. She’ll come to you when she’s ready, trust me.” He grins, somewhat maniacal. “Until then, Yoongi will take good care of her while you and I get to know each other.” He claps a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, and with the contact, Jimin is overwhelmed by Hoseok’s presence, by the sheer power radiating from him and the dragon breathing smoke behind him.

“Goerir,” Hoseok calls. “A little fire, please.” The dragon grumbles, and Hoseok’s mark glows bright. Magic spreads from his fingers, little ropes of fire looping around Jimin’s body.

“Wait-!” He’s trapped again, restrained upright this time. “Hoseok!”

Hoseok’s hand tightens on Jimin’s shoulder. “You can break this on your own this time,” he challenges. “Not by me annoying you. You don’t want your power to be rooted in anger, rider. You need your roots to be in your trust in your dragon and your trust in your own control. You are the dragon’s anchor.” 

He turns and retreats then, scrambling up Goerir’s side. “Good luck getting back, Jimin!” Hoseok calls, and Georir’s wings stretch out. The red dragon crouches, and the ground trembles with his power. 

“Hoseok!” Jimin screams again, but the only answer he receives is Hoseok’s laughter as the dragon takes off and soars into the setting sun. The restraints tighten against Jimin, melting the snow around his feet, and he scowls at the sky.

“I’ll break free,” he promises himself. “I’ll be a worthy rider for you,” he promises the little dragon waiting for him in the stone clearing under Yoongi’s care.

He thinks of Hoseok’s orange eyes and grits his teeth.

The magic within him sings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time coming, but it finally arrived.  
> Hit me up on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/daestruct) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/daestruct)!
> 
> Next post will be in two weeks from now... Finals and Prospectus must take priority. I'm sorry Jimin.


End file.
